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MEN   WITH   THE   BARK  ON 


BY   THE   SAME   AUTHOR. 


SUNDOWN  LEFLARE.    Short  Stories.    Illustra- 
tions   by    the    Author.      Post    8vo,   Cloth,   Orna- 
mental, $1  25. 
Sundown  Leflare  is  not  idealized  in  Mr.  Remington's 

handling  of  him.  .  .  .    But  he  is  a  very  realistic,  very 

human  character,  and  one  whom  we  would  see  and  read 

more  of  hereafter. — Boston  Journal. 

CROOKED    TRAILS.     Illustrated  by  the  Author. 

8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $2  00. 

Mr.  Remington  as  author  and  artist  presents  a  perfect 
combination. — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

PONY  TRACKS.    Illustrated  by  the  Author.    8vo, 

Half  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  75. 

No  better  illustrated  book  of  frontier  adventure  has 
been  published. — Boston  Journal. 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON: 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS. 


Men  with  the  Bark  On 


BY 


FREDERIC    REMINGTON ,  l8-fe(- 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  THE  AUTHOR 


NEW   YORK  AND   LONDON 
HARPER   &    BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 


C'  _ 


Copyright,  1900,  by  FREDERIC  REMINGTON 

All  rights  reserved. 


"  Men  with  the  bark  on  die  like  the  wild 
animals,  unnaturally — unmourned,  and  even 
unthought  of  mostly  " 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  WAR  DREAMS =     .     .     .     .  3 

THE  BOWELS  OF  A  BATTLE-SHIP  ' 13 

THE  HONOR  OF  THE  TROOP 25 

A  SKETCH  BY  MACNEIL 41 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  DRY  LEAVES 49 

A  FAILURE  OF  JUSTICE 69 

SORROWS  OF  DON  TOMAS  PIDAL,  RECONCENTRADO  85 

WHEN  A  DOCUMENT  is  OFFICIAL 101 

THE  WHITE  FOREST 121 

THEY  BORE  A  HAND 141 

THE  TROUBLE  BROTHERS  :  BILL  AND  THE  WOLF  .  161 

WITH  THE  FIFTH  CORPS 171 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


CAPTAIN    GRIMES'S    BATTERY     GOING    UP    EL 

POSO   HILL Frontispiece 

THE   EXECUTIVE    OFFICER Facing  1 8 

"THREE    BANDITS    WERE     LED     BACK     INTO 

THE   PATH  " "  32 

"A   BEAUTIFUL   FIGHT    ENSUED"     ....  "  36 
"  '  THIS    IS  WHERE   THEM    INJUNS  IS  LIGHT- 
MINDED '"    "  44 

THE   PASSION   OF   AH-WE-AH "  54 

"  THE  MOOSE  COULD  HEAR  HIM  COMING  FOR 

AN   HOUR" "  60 

"  THE  DRY  LEAVES  HAD  LASTED  LONGER 

THAN  SHE  " "  62 

"THE  CAPTAIN  WAS  A  GENTLEMAN"    .     .  "70 

"'STOP — STOP  THAT,  DAN!'" "  7^ 

"THIS  WAS  THE  FIRST  I  FELT  OF  WAR"  "  Q4 
"'THE    MEN    OF   THE    BATTALION   FIRED 

MANY  SHOTS  AT  ME  ' " "  96 

"'NO,  I  AM  NOT  LOCO'"    ......  "  HO 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"THE  BUFFALO  -  HUNTERS   KNEW   BY  THE 

'SIGN*  ON  THE  TRAIL" Facing  Il6 

THE   OLD   YALE   STROKE "  122 

"  THE      SERIOUSNESS      OF      FOUR     FEET      OF 

SNOW" "'  124 

THE  ESSEX  TROOPER "  126 

THE  HOT  FINISH  IN  THE  SNOW-SHOE  RACE  "  128 

CARIBOU  TRACK '*  130 

HAULING  THE  TOBOGGANS "  132 

THE  CABIN "  134 

ICE-FISHING "  136 

"  '  DISMOUNT — GET  DOWN  '*'....«.  "  148 

"THERE  WAS  NOTHING  TO  DO"  ....  "  150 

"  '  I  HOPE  THE  COLONEL  WON'T  GET  MAD  '  "  *'  152 

THE  DEATH  OF  OESTREICHER "  154 

"  THIS  IS  THE  WAY  IT  BEGAN  **....  "  l66 

"  AT  THE  BLOODY  FORD  OF  THE  SAN  JUAN  "  "  184 
"  BEFORE  THE  WARNING  SCREAM  OF  THE 

SHRAPNEL" "  188 

THE  TEMPORARY  HOSPITAL "  198 

"THE  WOUNDED,  GOING  TO  THE  REAR, 

CHEERED  THE  AMMUNITION  "  .  .  .  .  "  2O4 
"  IN  THE  REAR  OF  THE  BATTLE — WOUNDED 

ON  THE  SAN  JUAN  ROAD  "      .     .     .     .  "  2O6 


THE   WAR   DREAMS 


THE   WAR    DREAMS 

AT  the  place  far  from  Washington  where 
the  gray,  stripped  war-ships  swing  on 
the  tide,  and  towards  which  the  troop-trains 
hurry,  there  is  no  thought  of  peace.  The 
shore  is  a  dusty,  smelly  bit  of  sandy  coral, 
and  the  houses  in  this  town  are  built  like 
snare -drums;  they  are  dismal  thoroughly, 
and  the  sun  makes  men  sweat  and  wish  to 
God  they  were  somewhere  else. 

But  the  men  in  the  blue  uniforms  are 
young,  and  Madame  Beaulieu,  who  keeps 
the  restaurant,  strives  to  please,  so  it  came 
to  pass  that  I  attended  one  of  these  happy- 
go-lucky  banquets.  The  others  were  artil- 
lery officers,  men  from  off  the  ships,  with  a 
little  sprinkle  of  cavalry  and  infantry  just  for 
salt.  They  were  brothers,  and  yellow-jack — 
hellish  heat — bullets,  and  the  possibility  of 
getting  mixed  up  in  a  mass  of  exploding 
3 


THE    WAR    DREAMS 

Iron  had  been  discounted  long  back  in  their 
school-boy  days  perhaps.  Yet  they  are  not 
without  sentiment,  and  are  not  even  callous 
to  all  these,  as  will  be  seen,  though  men  are 
different  and  do  not  think  alike — less,  even, 
when  they  dream. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  had  a  dream  last  night," 
said  a  naval  officer. 
"  So  did  I." 

"  So  did  I,"  was  chorussed  by  the  others. 
"  Well,  well !"  I  said.    "  Tell  your  dreams. 

Mr.  H ,  begin." 

"  Oh,  it  was  nothing  much.  I  dreamed 
that  I  was  rich  and  old,  and  had  a  soft  stom- 
ach, and  I  very  much  did  not  want  to  die. 
It  was  a  curious  sort  of  feeling,  this  very  old 
and  rich  business,  since  I  am  neither,  nor 
even  now  do  I  want  to  die,  which  part  was 
true  in  my  dream. 

"  I  thought  I  was  standing  on  the  bluffs 
overlooking  the  Nile.  I  saw  people  skating, 
when  suddenly  numbers  of  hippopotamuses 
— great  masses  of  them — broke  up  through 
the  ice  and  began  swallowing  the  people. 
This  was  awfully  real  to  me.  I  even  saw  Mac 
there  go  down  one  big  throat  as  easily  as  a 
4 


THE    WAR    DREAMS 

cocktail.  Then  they  came  at  me  in  a  solid 
wall.  I  was  crazed  with  fear  —  I  fled.  I 
could  not  run  ;  but  coming  suddenly  on  a 
pile  of  old  railroad  iron,  I  quickly  made  a 
bicycle  out  of  two  car-wheels,  and  flew.  A 
young  hippo  more  agile  than  the  rest  made 
himself  a  bike  also,  and  we  scorched  on  over 
the  desert.  My  strength  failed;  I  despaired 
and  screamed — then  I  woke  up.  Begad, 
this  waiting  and  waiting  in  this  fleet  is  surely 
doing  things  to  me  !" 

The  audience  laughed,  guyed,  and  said  let's 
have  some  more  dreams,  and  other  things. 
This  dream  followed  the  other  things,  and 
he  who  told  it  was  an  artilleryman  : 

"  My  instincts  got  tangled  up  with  one  of 
those  Key  West  shrimp  salads,  I  reckon  ; 
but  war  has  no  terrors  for  a  man  who  has 
been  through  my  last  midnight  battle.  I 
dreamed  I  was  superintending  two  big  12- 
inch  guns  which  were  firing  on  an  enemy's 
fleet.  I  do  not  know  where  this  was.  We 
got  out  of  shot,  but  we  seemed  to  have 
plenty  of  powder.  The  fleet  kept  coming 
on,  and  I  had  to  do  something,  so  I  put  an 
old  superannuated  sergeant  in  the  gun.  He 
5 


THE    WAR    DREAMS 

pleaded,  but  I  said  he  was  old,  the  case  was 
urgent,  it  did  not  matter  how  one  died  for 
his  country,  etc. — so  we  put  the  dear  old 
sergeant  in  the  gun  and  fired  him  at  the 
fleet.  Then  the  battle  became  hot.  I  load- 
ed soldiers  in  the  guns  and  fired  them  out  to 
sea  until  I  had  no  more  soldiers.  Then  I 
began  firing  citizens.  I  ran  out  of  citizens. 
But  there  were  Congressmen  around  some- 
where there  in  my  dreams,  and  though  they 
made  speeches  of  protest  to  me  under  the 
five-minute  rule,  I  promptly  loaded  them  in, 
and  touched  them  off  in  their  turn.  The 
fleet  was  pretty  hard-looking  by  this  time, 
but  still  in  the  ring.  I  could  see  the  foreign 
sailors  picking  pieces  of  Congressmen  from 
around  the  breech-blocks,  and  the  officers 
were  brushing  their  clothes  with  their  hand- 
kerchiefs. I  was  about  to  give  up,  when  I 
thought  of  the  Key  West  shrimp  salad.  One 
walked  conveniently  up  to  me,  and  I  loaded 
her  in.  With  a  last  convulsive  yank  I  pulled 
the  lock-string,  and  the  fleet  was  gone  with 
my  dream." 

"  How  do  cavalrymen  dream,  Mr.  B ?" 

was  asked  of  a  yellow-leg. 
6 


THE    WAR    DREAMS 

"  Oh,  our  dreams  are  all  strictly  profes- 
sional, too.  I  was  out  with  my  troop,  being 
drilled  by  a  big  fat  officer  on  an  enormous 
horse.  He  was  very  red-faced,  and  crazy  with 
rage  at  us.  He  yelled  like  one  of  those  siren 
whistles  out  there  in  the  fleet. 

"  He  said  we  were  cowards  and  would  not 
fight.  So  he  had  a  stout  picket-fence  made, 
about  six  feet  high,  and  then,  forming  us  in 
line,  he  said  no  cavalry  was  any  good  which 
could  be  stopped  by  any  obstacle.  Mind 
you,  he  yelled  it  at  us  like  the  siren.  He 
said  the  Spaniards  would  not  pay  any  atten- 
tion to  such  cowards.  Then  he  gave  the 
order  to  charge,  and  we  flew  into  the  fence. 
We  rode  at  the  fence  pell-mell  —  into  it 
dashed  our  horses,  while  we  sabred  and 
shouted.  Behind  us  now  came  the  big  colo- 
nel— very  big  he  was  now,  and  with  great 
red  wings — saying,  above  all  the  din, 'You 
shall  never  come  back  — you  shall  never 
come  back!'  and  I  was  squeezed  tighter 
and  tighter  by  him  up  to  this  fence  until  I 
awoke;  and  now  I  have  changed  my  cock- 
tail to  a  plain  vermouth." 

When  appealed  to,  the  infantry  officer 
7 


THE    WAR    DREAMS 

tapped  the  table  with  his  knife  thoughtfully: 
"  My  dream  was  not  so  tragic ;  it  was  a  moral 
strain  ;  but  I  suffered  greatly  while  it  lasted. 
Somehow  I  was  in  command  of  a  company 
of  raw  recruits,  and  was  in  some  trenches 
which  we  were  constructing  under  fire.  My 
recruits  were  not  like  soldiers — they  were  not 
young  men.  They  were  past  middle  age, 
mostly  fat,  and  many  had  white  side  whisk- 
ers after  the  fashion  of  the  funny  papers 
when  they  draw  banker  types.  I  had  a  man 
shot,  and  the  recruits  all  got  around  me* 
they  were  pleading  and  crying  to  be  allowed 
to  go  home. 

"  Now  I  never  had  anything  in  the  world 
but  my  pay,  and  am  pretty  well  satisfied  as 
men  go  in  the  world,  but  I  suppose  the 
American  does  not  breathe  who  is  averse  to 
possessing  great  wealth  himself ;  so  when  one 
man  said  he  would  give  me  $1,000,000  in  gold 
if  I  would  let  him  go,  I  stopped  to  think, 
Here  is  where  I  suffered  so  keenly.  I  wanted 
the  million,  but  I  did  not  want  to  let  him  go. 

"  Then  these  men  came  up,  one  after  the 
other,  and  offered  me  varying  sums  of  money 
to  be  allowed  to  run  away — and  specious  ar- 
8 


THE    WAR    DREAMS 

guments  in  favor  of  the  same.  I  was  now  in 
agony.  D — n  it !  that  company  was  worth 
nearly  a  hundred  million  dollars  to  me  if  I 
would  let  them  take  themselves  off.  I  held 
out,  but  the  strain  was  horrible.  Then  they 
began  to  offer  me  their  daughters — they 
each  had  photographs  of  the  most  beautiful 
American  girls — dozens  and  dozens  of  Amer- 
ican girls,  each  one  of  which  was  a  *  peach.' 
Say,  fellows,  I  could  stand  the  millions.  I 
never  did  '  gig '  on  the  money,  but  I  took 
the  photographs,  said  '  Give  me  your  girls, 
and  pull  your  freight !'  and  my  company  dis- 
appeared instantly.  Do  you  blame  a  man 
stationed  in  Key  West  for  it — do  you,  fel- 
lows ?" 

"  Not  by  a  d — d  sight !"  sang  the  com- 
pany, on  its  feet. 

"  Well,  you  old  marine,  what  did  you 
dream  ?" 

"  My  digestion  is  so  good  that  my  dreams 
have  no  red  fire  in  them.  I  seldom  do  dream  ; 
but  last  night,  it  seems  to  me,  I  recall  having 
a  wee  bit  of  a  dream.  I  don't  know  that  I 
can  describe  it,  but  I  was  looking  very  in- 
tently at  a  wet  spot  on  the  breast  of  a  blue 
9 


THE    WAR    DREAMS 

uniform  coat.  I  thought  they  were  tears — 
woman's  tears.  I  don't  know  whether  it  was 
a  dream  or  whether  I  really  did  see  it."' 

"  Oh,  d — n  your  dreams  !"  said  the  Doctor. 
4<  What  is  that  bloody  old  Congress  doing 
from  last  reports?" 


THE    BOWELS    OF   A 
BATTLE-SHIP 


THE    BOWELS    OF   A 
BATTLE-SHIP 

MODERN  war  is  supposed  to  be  rapid, 
and  we  Americans  think  "  time  is 
money,"  but  this  war  seems  to  be  the  mur- 
der of  time,  the  slow  torture  of  opportunity. 
For  seven  long  days  and  nights  I  have 
been  steaming  up  and  down  on  the  battle- 
ship Iowa,  ten  miles  off  the  harbor  of  Ha- 
vana. Nothing  happened.  The  Mayflower 
got  on  the  land  side  of  a  British  tramp  and 
warned  her  off,  and  a  poor  Spanish  fishing- 
schooner  from  Progreso,  loaded  with  rotting 
fish,  was  boarded  by  a  boat's  crew  from  us. 
When  the  captain  saw  the  becutlassed  and 
bepistolled  "  tars  "  he  became  badly  rattled, 
and  told  the  truth  about  himself.  A  Span- 
iard has  to  be  surprised  into  doing  this.  He 
had  been  many  days  out,  his  ice  was  gone, 
13 


BOWELS    OF    A    BATTLE-SHIP 

and  his  fish  were  "  high."  He  wanted  to 
make  Havana,  telling  the  boarding- officer 
that  the  people  of  Havana  were  very  hungry. 
He  had  been  boarded  five  times  off  the  coast 
by  our  people;  so  the  lieutenant — who  had 
just  gotten  out  of  bed,  by-the-way — told  him 
to  take  his  cargo  of  odors  out  into  the  open 
sea,  and  not  to  come  back  again. 

The  appalling  sameness  of  this  pacing  up 
and  down  before  Havana  wrorks  on  the 
nerves  of  every  one,  from  captain  to  cook's 
police.  We  are  neglected  ;  no  one  comes  to 
see  us.  All  the  Key  West  trolley-boats  run 
to  the  Admiral's  flag,  and  we  know  nothing 
of  the  outside.  We  speculate  on  the  Flying 
Squadron,  the  Oregon,  the  army,  and  the 
Spanish.  I  have  an  impression  that  I  was 
not  caught  young  enough  to  develop  a  love 
of  the  sea,  which  the  slow  passage  of  each 
day  reinforces.  I  have  formed  a  habit  of 
damning  the  army  for  its  procrastination, 
but  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  yearn  for  it.  I 
want  to  hear  a  "  shave-tail  "  bawl ;  I  want  to 
get  some  dust  in  my  throat;  I  want  to  kick 
the  dewy  grass,  to  see  a  sentry  pace  in  the 
moonlight,  and  to  talk  the  language  of  my 


BOWELS    OF    A    BATTLE-SHIP 

tribe.  I  resist  it;  I  suppress  myself;  but 
my  homely  old  first  love  comes  to  haunt  me, 
waking  and  sleeping — yes,  even  when  I  look 
at  this  mountain  of  war  material,  this  epit- 
ome of  modern  science,  with  its  gay  white 
officers,  who  talk  of  London,  Paris,  China, 
and  Africa  in  one  breath.  Oh,  I  know  I 
shall  fall  on  the  neck  of  the  first  old  "  dough- 
boy "  or  "yellow-leg"  I  see,  and  I  don't  care 
if  he  is  making  bread  at  the  time! 

The  Morro  light  has  been  extinguished, 
but  two  powerful  searches  flash  back  and 
forth  across  the  sky.  "  Good  things  to  sail 
by,"  as  the  navigator  says.  "We  can  put 
them  out  when  the  time  comes."  Another 
purpose  they  serve  is  that  "  Jackie "  has 
something  to  swear  at  as  he  lies  by  his  loaded 
gun — something  definite,  something  material, 
to  swear  at.  Also,  two  small  gunboats  de- 
veloped a  habit  of  running  out  of  the  har- 
bor—  not  very  far,  and  with  the  utmost 
caution,  like  a  boy  who  tantalizes  a  chained 
bear.  And  at  places  in  the  town  arises  smoke. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asks  the  captain  of  marines. 

"  Big  tobacco-factories  working  over-time 
for  us,"  replies  Doctor  Crandell. 
IS 


BOWELS    OF    A    BATTLE-SHIP 

I  was  taken  down  into  the  machinery  of 
the  ship.  I  thought  to  find  in  it  some  hu- 
man interest.  Through  mile  after  mile  of 
underground  passages  I  crawled  and  scram- 
bled and  climbed  amid  wheels  going  this  way 
and  rods  plunging  that,  with  little  electric 
lights  to  make  holes  in  the  darkness.  Men 
stood  about  in  the  overpowering  blasts  of 
heat,  sweating  and  greasy  and  streaked  with 
black — grave,  serious  persons  of  superhuman 
intelligence — men  who  have  succumbed  to 
modern  science,  which  is  modern  life.  Dai- 
sies and  trees  and  the  play  of  sunlight  mean 
nothing  to  these — they  know  when  all  three 
are  useful,  which  is  enough.  They  pulled 
the  levers,  opened  and  shut  cocks,  showered 
coal  into  the  roaring  white  hells  under  the 
boilers ;  hither  and  yon  they  wandered,  be- 
stowing mother-like  attentions  on  rod  and 
pipe.  I  talked  at  them,  but  they  developed 
nothing  except  preoccupied  professionalism. 
I  believe  they  fairly  worship  this  throbbing 
mass  of  mysterious  iron  ;  I  believe  they  love 
this  bewildering  power  which  they  control. 
Its  problems  entrance  them  ;  but  it  simply 
stuns  me.  At  last  when  I  stood  on  deck  I 
16 


BOWELS    OF    A    BATTLE-SHIP 

had  no  other  impression  but  that  of  my  own 
feebleness,  and,  as  I  have  said,  felt  rather 
stunned  than  stimulated.  Imagine  a  square 
acre  of  delicate  machinery  plunging  and 
whirling  and  spitting,  with  men  crawling 
about  in  its  demon  folds !  It  is  not  for  me 
to  tell  you  more. 

Don't  waste  your  sympathy  on  these  men 
belowdecks — they  will  not  thank  you ;  they 
will  not  even  understand  you.  They  are 
"modern  "  —  are  better  off  than  "Jackie" 
and  his  poor  wandering  soul — they  love  their 
iron  baby,  so  leave  them  alone  with  their  joy. 
Modern  science  does  not  concern  itself  about 
death. 

The  Iowa  will  never  be  lost  to  the  nation 
for  want  of  care.  By  night  there  are  dozens 
of  trained  eyes  straining  into  the  darkness, 
the  searches  are  ready  to  flash,  and  the 
watch  on  deck  lies  close  about  its  shotted 
guns.  Not  a  light  shows  from  the  loom  of 
the  great  battle -ship.  Captain  Evans  sits 
most  of  the  time  on  a  perch  upon  the  bridge, 
forty  feet  above  the  water-line.  I  have  seen 
him  come  down  to  his  breakfast  at  eight 
bells  with  his  suspenders  hanging  down  be- 
B  17 


BOWELS    OF    A    BATTLE-SHIP 

hind,  indicating  that  he  had  been  jumped 
out  during  the  night. 

The  executive  officer,  Mr.  Rogers,  like  the 
machinery  down  below,  never  sleeps.  Wan- 
der where  I  would  about  the  ship,  I  could 
not  sit  a  few  moments  before  Mr.  Rogers 
would  flit  by,  rapid  and  ghost-like — a  word 
here,  an  order  there,  and  eyes  for  everybody 
and  everything.  Behind,  in  hot  pursuit, 
came  stringing  along  dozens  of  men  hunting 
for  Mr.  Rogers;  and  this  never  seemed  to 
let  up — midnight  and  mid-day  all  the  same. 
The  thought  of  what  it  must  be  is  simply 
horrible.  He  has  my  sympathy  —  nervous 
prostration  will  be  his  reward — yet  I  greatly 
fear  the  poor  man  is  so  perverted,  so  dehu- 
manized, as  positively  to  like  his  life  and 
work. 

Naval  officers  are  very  span  in  their  grace- 
ful uniforms,  so  one  is  struck  when  at  ''quar- 
ters" the  officers  commanding  the  turrets  ap- 
pear in  their  "dungaree,"  spotted  and  soiled. 
The  Iowa  has  six  turrets,  each  in  charge  of 
an  officer  responsible  for  its  guns  and  hoist- 
ing-gear, delicate  and  complicated.  In  each 
turret  is  painted,  in  a  sort  of  Sam  Weller 
18 


THE    EXECUTIVE   OFFICER 


BOWELS    OF    A    BAtTLE-SHIt 

writing,  "  Remember  the  Maine."  The  gun- 
captains  and  turret-men  acquire  a  strange  in- 
terest and  pride  in  their  charges,  hanging 
about  them  constantly. 

Two  gun-captains  in  the  forward  turret 
used  to  sit  on  the  great  brown  barrels  of  the 
12-inch  rifles  just  outside  the  posts,  guarding 
them  with  jealous  care  ;  for  it  is  a  "  Jackie  " 
trick  to  look  sharply  after  his  little  spot  on 
shipboard,  and  to  promptly  fly  into  any 
stranger  who  defiles  it  in  any  way.  At  times 
these  two  men  popped  back  into  their  holes 
like  prairie-dogs.  It  was  their  hope  and  their 
home,  that  dismal  old  box  of  tricks,  and  it 
may  be  their  grave.  I  was  going  to  die  with 
them  there,  though  I  resolutely  refused  to 
live  with  them.  However,  the  Iowa  is  un- 
sinkable  and  unlickable,  and  the  hardware 
on  the  forward  turret  is  fifteen  inches  thick, 
which  is  why  I  put  my  brand  on  it.  So 
good-luck  to  Lieutenant  Van  Duzer  and  his 
merry  men  ! 

"  Jackie,"  the  prevailing  thing  on  a  man- 
of-war,  I  fail  to  comprehend  fully.  He  is  a 
strong-visaged,  unlicked  cub,  who  grumbles 
and  bawls  and  fights.  He  is  simple,  handy, 
19 


kOWELS    OF    A    BATTLE-SHIP 

humorous,  and  kind  to  strangers,  as  I  can 
testify.  The  nearest  he  ever  comes  to  a 
martial  appearance  is  when  he  lines  up  at 
quarters  to  answer  "Here!"  to  his  name,  and 
there  is  just  where  he  doesn't  martialize  at 
all.  He  comes  barefooted,  hat  on  fifty  ways, 
trousers  rolled  up  or  down,  and  everything 
blowing  wide.  He  scratches  his  head  or 
stands  on  one  foot  in  a  ragged  line,  which 
grins  at  the  spectators  in  cheerful  heedless- 
ness,  and  he  looks  very  much  gratified  when 
it  is  all  over.  His  hope  is  for  a  bang-up  sea- 
fight,  or  two  roaring  days  of  shore  liberty, 
when  he  can  "  tear  up  the  beach"  with  all 
the  force  of  his  reckless  muscularity. 

The  marine,  or  sea-soldier,  has  succumbed 
to  modern  conditions,  and  now  fights  a  gun 
the  same  as  a  sailor-man.  He  manages  to 
retain  his  straight -backed  discipline,  but  is 
overworked  in  his  twofold  capacity.  This 
"  soldier  and  sailor  too  "  is  a  most  interest- 
ing man  to  talk  to,  and  I  wish  I  could  tell 
some  of  his  stories.  He  marches  into  the 
interior  of  China  or  Korea  to  pull  a  minister 
out  of  the  fire — thirty  or  forty  of  him  against 
a  million  savages,  but  he  gets  his  man.  He 
20 


BOWELS    OF    A    BATTLE-SHIP 

lies  in  a  jungle  hut  on  the  Isthmus  or  a 
"  dobie  "  house  on  the  West  Coast  while  the 
microbes  and  the  "  dogoes  "  rage. 

But  it's  all  horribly  alike  to  me,  so  I  man- 
aged to  desert.  The  Winslow,  torpedero, 
ran  under  our  lee  one  fine  morning,  and  I 
sneaked  on  board,  bound  for  the  flag-ship — 
the  half-way  station  between  us  and  Cayo 
Hueso.  We  plunged  and  bucked  about  in 
the  roaring  waves  of  the  Gulf,  and  I  nearly 
had  the  breakfast  shaken  out  of  me.  I  as- 
sure you  that  I  was  mighty  glad  to  find  the 
lee  of  the  big  cruiser  New  York. 

On  board  I  found  that  the  flag-ship  had 
had  some  good  sport  the  day  previous  shell- 
ing some  working  parties  in  Matanzas.  Mr. 
Zogbaum  and  Richard  Harding  Davis  had 
seen  it  all,  note-book  in  hand.  I  was  stiff 
with  jealousy ;  but  it  takes  more  than  one 
tight  to  make  a  war — so  here  is  hoping ! 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  TROOP 


THE  HONOR  OF  THE  TROOP 

L TROOP  in  a  volunteer  regiment  might 
be  an  unadulterated  fighting  outfit,  but 
at  first  off,  to  volunteers,  it  would  not  be  the 
letter  L  which  they  would  fight  for,  so  much 
as  the  mere  sake  of  fighting,  and  they  would 
never  regard  the  letter  L  as  of  more  impor- 
tance than  human  life.  Indeed,  that  letter 
would  not  signify  to  them  any  more  than 
the  "  second  set  of  fours,"  or  the  regimental 
bass  drum.  Later  on  it  certainly  would, 
but  that  would  take  a  long  time.  In  the  in- 
stance of  the  L  troop  of  which  I  speak,  it 
had  nearly  one  hundred  years  to  think  about, 
when  any  one  in  the  troop  cared  to  think 
about  the  matter  at  all.  They  were  honor- 
able years,  and  some  of  the  best  men  living 
or  dead  have  at  one  time  or  another  followed 
that  guidon.  It  had  been  through  the  "  rifle  " 
and  "dragoon''  periods  of  our  history,  and 
25 


THE    HONOR    OF    THE    TROOP 

was  now  part  of  the  regular  cavalry  estab- 
lishment, and  its  operations  had  extended 
from  Lake  Erie  to  the  city  of  Mexico. 

Long  lists  of  names  were  on  its  old  rolls — 
men  long  since  dead,  but  men  who  in  the 
snow  and  on  the  red  sands  had  laid  down  all 
they  had  for  the  honor  of  L  Troop  guidon. 
Soldiers — by  which  is  meant  the  real  long- 
service  military  type — take  the  government 
very  much  as  a  matter  of  course  ;  but  the 
number  of  the  regiment,  and  particularly  the 
letter  of  their  troop,  are  tangible,  compara- 
tive things  with  which  they  are  living  every 
day.  The  feeling  is  precisely  that  one  has 
for  the  Alma  Mater,  or  for  the  business 
standing  of  an  old  commercial  house. 

The  "old  man  "  had  been  captain  of  L  for 
years  and  years,  and  for  thirty  years  its  first 
sergeant  had  seen  its  rank  and  file  fill  up  and 
disappear.  Every  tenth  man  was  a  "  buck  " 
soldier,  who  thought  it  only  a  personal  mat- 
ter if  he  painted  a  frontier  town  up  after 
pay-day,  but  who  would  follow  L  troop 
guidon  to  hell,  or  thump  any  one's  nose  in 
the  garrison  foolish  enough  to  take  L  in  vain, 
and  I  fear  they  would  go  further  than  this— 
26 


THE    HONOR    OF    THE    TROOP 

yes,  even  further  than  men  ought  to  go. 
Thus  the  "  rookies  "  who  came  under  the 
spell  of  L  Troop  succumbed  to  this  venera- 
tion through  either  conventional  decorum  or 
the  "  mailed  fist." 

In  this  instance  L  Troop  had  been  thread- 
ing the  chaparral  by  night  and  by  day  on 
what  rations  might  chance,  in  hopes  to  capt- 
ure for  the  honor  of  the  troop  sundry  greas- 
ers, outlawed  and  defiant  of  the  fulmina- 
tions  of  the  civil  order  of  things.  Other 
troops  of  the  regiment  also  were  desirous 
of  the  same  thing,  and  were  threading  the 
desolate  wastes  far  on  either  side.  Naturally 
L  did  not  want  any  other  troop  to  round  up 
more  "game"  than  they  did,  so  then  horses 
were  ridden  thin,  and  the  men's  tempers  were 
soured  by  the  heat,  dust,  poor  diet,  and  lack 
of  success. 

The  captain  was  an  ancient  veteran,  gray 
and  rheumatic,  near  his  retirement,  and 
twenty-five  years  in  his  grade,  thanks  to  the 
silly  demagogues  so  numerous  in  Congress. 
He  had  been  shot  full  of  holes,  bucketed 
about  on  a  horse,  immured  in  mud  huts, 
frozen  and  baked  and  soaked  until  he  should 
27 


THE    HONOR    OF    THE    TROOP 

have  long  since  had  rank  enough  to  get  a 
desk  and  a  bed  or  retirement.  Now  he  was 
chasing  human  fleas  through  a  jungle — boys' 
work — and  it  was  admitted  in  ranks  that  the 
"  old  man  "  was  about  ready  to  u  throw  a 
curb."  The  men  liked  him,  even  sympa- 
thized with  him,  but  there  was  that  d G 

Troop  in  the  barrack  next,  and  they  would 
give  them  the  merry  ha-ha  when  they  re- 
turned to  the  post  if  L  did  not  do  some- 
thing. 

And  at  noon — mind  you,  high  noon — the 
captain  raised  his  right  hand ;  up  came  the 
heads  of  the  horses,  and  L  Troop  stood  still 
in  the  road.  Pedro,  the  Mexican  trailer, 
pointed  to  the  ground  and  said,  "  It's  not  an 
hour  old,"  meaning  the  trail. 

"  Dismount,"  came  the  sharp  order. 

Toppling  from  their  horses,  the  men  stood 
about,  but  the  individuals  displayed  no  no- 
ticeable emotion ;  they  did  what  L  Troop 
did.  One  could  not  imagine  their  thoughts 
by  looking  at  their  red  set  faces. 

They  rested  quietly  for  a  time  in  the  scant 
shade  of  the  bare  tangle,  and  then  they  sat 
up  and  listened,  each  man  looking  back  up 
28 


THE    HONOR    OF    THE    TROOP 

the  road.  They  could  hear  a  horse  com- 
ing, which  meant  much  to  people  such  as 
these. 

The  men  "thrown  to  the  rear"  would 
come  first  or  "  fire  a  shot,"  but  with  a  slow 
pattering  came  a  cavalry  courier  into  view 
—  a  dusty  soldier  on  a  tired  horse,  which 
stepped  stiffly  along,  head  down,  and  if  it 
were  not  for  the  dull  kicking  of  the  inert 
man,  he  would  have  stopped  anywhere.  The 
courier  had  ridden  all  night  from  the  rail- 
road,  seventy -five  miles  away.  He  dis- 
mounted and  unstrapped  his  saddle  pocket, 
taking  therefrom  a  bundle  of  letters  and  a 
bottle,  which  he  handed  to  the  "  old  man  " 
with  a  salute. 

The  captain  now  had  a  dog-tent  set  up  for 
himself,  retiring  into  it  with  his  letters  and 
the  bottle.  If  you  had  been  there  you 
would  have  seen  a  faint  ironical  smile  cir- 
culate round  the  faces  of  L  Troop. 

A  smart  lieutenant,  beautifully  fashioned 
for  the  mounted  service,  and  dressed  in  field 
uniform,  with  its  touches  of  the  "border" 
on  the  "regulations,"  stepped  up  to  the  dog- 
tent,  and,  stooping  over,  saluted,  saying,  "  I 

2Q 


THE    HONOk    OF    THE    TROOP 

will  run  this  trail  for  a  few  miles  if  the  cap- 
tain will  give  me  a  few  men." 

"  You  will  run  nothing.  Do  you  not  see 
that  I  am  reading  my  mail  ?  You  will  retire 
until  I  direct  you — " 

The  lieutenant  straightened  up  with  a  snap 
of  his  lithe  form.  His  eyes  twinkled  mer- 
rily. He  was  aware  of  the  mail,  he  realized 
the  bottle,  and  he  had  not  been  making 
strategic  maps  of  the  captain's  vagaries  for 
four  years  to  no  purpose  at  all ;  so  he  said, 
"Yes,  sir,"  as  he  stepped  out  of  the  fire  of 
future  displeasure. 

But  he  got  himself  straightway  into  the 
saddle  of  a  horse  as  nearly  thoroughbred  as 
himself,  and  riding  down  the  line,  he  spoke 
at  length  with  the  old  first  sergeant.  Then 
he  rode  off  into  the  brush.  Presently  six 
men  whose  horses  were  "  fit "  followed  after 
him,  and  they  all  trotted  along  a  trail  which 
bore  back  of  the  captain's  tent,  and  shortly 
they  came  back  into  the  road.  He  had  ar- 
ranged so  as  to  avoid  another  explosion  from 
the  "  old  man." 

Then  Pedro  Zacatin  ran  the  trail  of  three 
ponies — no  easy  matter  through  the  maze  of 
30 


THE    HONOR    OF    THE    TROOP 

cattle-paths,  with  the  wind  blowing  the  dust 
into  the  hoof-marks.  He  only  balked  at  a 
turn,  more  to  see  that  the  three  did  not 
"  split  out  "  than  at  fault  of  his  own.  In  an 
opening  he  stopped,  and  pointing,  said,  in 
the  harsh  gutturals  which  were  partly  de- 
rived from  an  Indian  mother,  and  partly 
from  excessive  cigarette- smoking:  "They 
have  stopped  and  made  a  fire.  Do  you  see 
the  smoke?  You  will  get  them  now  if  they 
do  not  get  away." 

The  lieutenant  softly  pulled  his  revolver, 
and  raising  it  over  his  head,  looked  behind. 
The  six  soldiers  opened  their  eyes  wide  like 
babies,  and  yanked  out  their  guns.  They 
raised  up  their  horses'  heads,  pressed  in  the 
spurs,  and  as  though  at  exercise  in  the  rid- 
ing-hall, the  seven  horses  broke  into  a  gallop. 
Pedro  stayed  behind  ;  he  had  no  further  in- 
terest in  L  Troop  than  he  had  already  dis- 
played. 

With  a  clattering  rush  the  little  group 
bore  fast  on  the  curling  wreath  of  the  camp- 
fire.  Three  white  figures  dived  into  the  lab- 
yrinth of  thicket,  and  three  ponies  tugged 
hard  at  their  lariats;  two  shots  rang,  one 
c  31 


THE    HONOR    OF    THE    TROOP 

from  the  officer's  revolver,  one  from  a  cor- 
poral's carbine,  and  a  bugler- boy  threw  a 
brass  trumpet  at  the  fleeting  forms. 

"  Ride  'em  down !  ride  'em  down !"  sang 
out  the  officer,  as  through  the  swishing 
brush  bounded  the  aroused  horses,  while  the 
bullets  swarmed  on  ahead. 

It  was  over  as  I  write,  and  in  two  minutes 
the  three  bandits  were  led  back  into  the 
path,  their  dark  faces  blanched. 

The  lieutenant  wiped  a  little  stain  of  blood 
from  his  face  with  a  very  dirty  pocket-hand- 
kerchief, a  mere  swish  from  a  bush;  the  cor- 
poral looked  wofully  at  a  shirt-sleeve  torn  half 
off  by  the  thorns,  and  the  trumpeter  hunted 
up  his  instrument,  while  a  buck  soldier  ob- 
served, "  De  *  old  man  '  ull  be  hotter'n  chilli 
'bout  dis." 

The  noble  six  looked  at  the  ignoble  three 
half  scornfully,  half  curiously,  after  the  man- 
ner of  men  at  a  raffle  when  they  are  guess- 
ing the  weight  of  the  pig. 

"  Tie  them  up,  corporal,"  said  the  lieuten- 
ant, as  he  shoved  fresh  shells  into  his  gun ; 
"  and  I  say,  tie  them  to  those  mesquit-trees, 
Apache  fashion  —  sabe? — Apache  fashion, 
32 


THE    HONOR    OF    THE    TROOP 

corporal ;  and  three  of  you  men  stay  here 
and  hold  'em  down."  With  which  he  rode 
off,  followed  by  his  diminished  escort. 

The  young  man  rode  slowly,  with  his  eyes 
on  the  ground,  while  at  intervals  he  shoved 
his  campaign  hat  to  one  side  and  rubbed  his 
right  ear,  until  suddenly  he  pulled  his  hat 
over  his  eyes,  saying,  "  Ah,  I  have  it."  Then 
he  proceeded  at  a  trot  to  the  camp. 

Here  he  peeped  cautiously  into  the  "  old 
man's  "  dog-tent.  This  he  did  ever  so  care- 
fully; but  the  "old  man"  was  in  a  sound 
sleep.  The  lieutenant  betook  himself  to  a 
bush  to  doze  until  the  captain  should  bestir 
himself.  L  Troop  was  uneasy.  It  sat  around 
in  groups,  but  nothing  happened  until  five 
o'clock. 

At  this  hour  the  "  old  man  "  came  out  of 

his  tent,  saying,  "  1  say,  Mr.  B ,  have  you 

got  any  water  in  your  canteen?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  captain.  Will  you  have  a 
drop?" 

After  he  had  held  the  canteen  between 

his  august  nose  and  the  sky  for  a  considerable 

interval,   he    handed    it    back   with    a   loud 

"  Hount !"  and  L  Troop  fell  in  behind  him 

33 


THE    HONOR    OF    THE    TROOP 

as  he  rode  away,  leaving  two  men,  who  gath- 
ered up  the  dog-tent  and  the  empty  bottle. 

"  Where  is  that greaser?     Have 

him  get  out  here  and  run  this  trail.  Here, 
you  tan -colored  coyote,  kem  up  !"  and  the 
captain  glared  fiercely  at  poor  Pedro,  while 
the  lieutenant  winked  vigorously  at  that 
perturbed  being,  and  patted  his  lips  with  his 
hand  to  enjoin  silence. 

So  Pedro  ran  the  trail  until  it  was  quite 
dusk,  being  many  times  at  fault.  The  lieu- 
tenant would  ride  out  to  him,  and  together 
they  bent  over  it  and  talked  long  and  ear- 
nestly. L  Troop  sat  quietly  in  its  saddles, 
grinned  cheerfully,  and  poked  each  other  in 
the  ribs. 

Suddenly  Pedro  came  back,  saying  to  the 
captain  :  "  The  men  are  in  that  bush — in 
camp,  I  think.  Will  you  charge,  sir?" 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?"  was  the  petu- 
lant query. 

"  Oh,  I  think  they  are  there ;  so  does  the 
lieutenant.  Don't  you,  Mr.  B ?" 

"  Well,  I  have  an  idea  we  shall  capture 
them  if  we  charge,"  nervously  replied  the 
younger  officer. 

34 


THE    HONOR    OF    THE    TROOP 

"Well—  Right  into  line!  Revolvers! 
Humph!"  said  the  captain,  and  the  brave  old 
lion  ploughed  his  big  bay  at  the  object  of 
attack — it  did  not  matter  what  was  in  front 
— and  L  Troop  followed  fast.  They  all  be- 
came well  tangled  up  in  the  dense  chaparral, 
but  nothing  more  serious  than  the  thorns 
stayed  their  progress,  until  three  shots  were 
fired  some  little  way  in  the  rear,  and  the  lieu- 
tenant's voice  was  heard  calling,  "  Come 
here  ;  we  have  got  them." 

In  the  growing  dusk  the  troop  gathered 
around  the  three  luckless  "greasers,"  now 
quite  speechless  with  fright  and  confusion. 
The  captain  looked  his  captives  over  softly, 
saying, "  Pretty  work  for  L  Troop ;  sound  very 
well  in  reports.  Put  a  guard  over  them,  lieu- 
tenant. I  am  going  to  try  for  a  little  sleep." 

The  reflections  of  L  Troop  were  cheery  as 
it  sat  on  its  blankets  and  watched  the  coffee 
in  the  tin  cups  boil.  Our  enterprising  lieu- 
tenant sat  apart  on  a  low  bank,  twirling  his 
thumbs  and  indulging  in  a  mighty  wonder  if 
that  would  be  the  last  of  it,  for  he  knew  only 
too  well  that  trifling  with  the  "  old  man  " 
was  no  joke. 

35 


THE    HONOR    OF    THE    TROOP 

Presently  he  strolled  over  and  called  the 
old  first  sergeant — their  relations  were  very 
close.  "  I  think  L  had  best  not  talk  much 
about  this  business.  G  Troop  might  hear 
about  it,  and  that  wouldn't  do  L  any  good. 
Sabe?" 

"  Divil  the  word  kin  a  man  say,  sir,  and 
live  till  morning  in  L  Troop." 

Later  there  was  a  conference  of  the  file, 
and  then  many  discussions  in  the  ranks,  with 
the  result  that  L  Troop  shut  its  mouth  for- 
ever. 

Some  months  latei  they  returned  to  the 
post.  The  canteen  rang  with  praise  of  the 
"  old  man,"  for  he  was  popular  with  the  men 
because  he  did  not  bother  them  with  fussy 
duties,  and  loud  was  the  paean  of  the  mighty 
charge  over  the  big  insurgent  camp  where 
the  three  great  chiefs  of  the  enemy  were  capt- 
ured. Other  troops  might  be  very  well,  but 
L  was  "  it." 

This  hard  rubbing  of  the  feelings  of  others 
had  the  usual  irritating  effect.  One  night 
the  burning  torch  went  round  and  all  the 
troopers  gathered  at  the  canteen,  where  the 
wag  of  G  Troop  threw  the  whole  unvarnished 

36 


THE    HONOR    OF    THE    TROOP 

truth  in  the  face  of  L  members  present. 
This,  too,  with  many  embellishments  which 
were  not  truthful.  A  beautiful  fight  en- 
sued, and  many  men  slept  in  the  guard- 
house. 

After  dark,  L  Troop  gathered  back  of  the 
stables,  and  they  talked  fiercely  at  each 
other ;  accusations  were  made,  and  recrimi- 
nation followed.  Many  conferences  were 
held  in  the  company-room,  but  meanwhile  G 
men  continued  to  grind  it  in. 

Two  days  later  the  following  appeared  in 
the  local  newspaper : 

.  .  .  .  "  Pedro  Zacatin,  a  Mexican  who 
served  with  troops  in  the  late  outbreak,  was 
found  hanging  to  a  tree  back  of  the  post. 
There  was  no  clew,  since  the  rain  of  last  night 
destroyed  all  tracks  of  the  perpetrators  of 
the  deed.  It  may  have  been  suicide,  but  it  is 
thought  at  the  post  that  he  was  murdered 
by  sympathizers  of  the  late  revolution  who 
knew  the  part  he  had  taken  against  them. 
The  local  authorities  will  do  well  to  take 
measures  against  lawless  Mexicans  from 
over  the  border  who  hang  about  this  city," 
etc. 

37 


A  SKETCH    BY   MAcNEIL 


A  SKETCH    BY   MAcNEIL 

WE  had  to  laugh.     I  chuckled  all  day,  it 
was  all  so  quaint.     But  I    don't  see 
how  I  can  tell  you,  because  you  don't  know 
MacNeil,  which  is  necessary. 

In  a  labored  way,  MacNeil  is  an  old  fron- 
tier scout  with  a  well-frosted  poll.  He  is 
what  we  all  call  a  "  good  fellow,"  with  plenty 
of  story,  laugh,  and  shrewd  comment;  but  his 
sense  of  humor  is  so  ridiculously  healthy,  so 
full-bloodedly  crude,  that  many  ceremonious 
minds  would  find  themselves  "  off  side  " 
when  Mac  turns  on  his  sense  of  jollity.  He 
started  years  ago  as  a  scout  for  Sheridan 
down  Potomac  way,  and  since  then  he  has 
been  in  the  Northwest  doing  similar  duty 
against  Indians,  so  a  life  spent  in  the  camps 
and  foot-hills  has  made  no  *'  scented  darling  " 
out  of  old  man  MacNeil.  He  is  a  thousand- 
times  hero,  but  he  does  not  in  the  least 


A    SKETCH    BY    MAcNEIL 

understand  this.  If  he  could  think  any  one 
thought  he  was  such  a  thing  he  would  opine 
that  such  a  one  was  a  fool.  He  has  acted 
all  his  life  in  great  and  stirring  events  as  un- 
conscious of  his  own  force  as  the  heat,  the 
wind,  or  the  turn  of  tide.  He  is  a  pure  old 
warrior,  and  nothing  has  come  down  the 
years  to  soften  MacNeil.  He  is  red-healthy 
in  his  sixties,  and  has  never  seen  anything  to 
make  him  afraid.  The  influence  of  even  fear 
is  good  on  men.  It  makes  them  reflective, 
and  takes  them  out  of  the  present.  But  even 
this  refinement  never  came  to  Mac,  and  he 
needed  it  in  the  worst  way. 

So  that  is  a  bad  sketch  of  MacNeil. 

A  little  bunch  of  us  sat  around  the  hotel 
one  day,  and  we  were  drawing  Mac's  covers 
of  knowledge  concerning  Indians.  As  the 
conversation  went  on,  Mac  slapped  his  leg, 
and  laughing,  said, "  The  most  comical  thing 
I  ever  saw  in  my  life  !" 

"  What  was  that,  Mac?"  came  a  half-dozen 
voices,  and  Mac  was  convulsed  with  merri- 
ment. 

"The  last  time  the  Piegans  raided  the 
Crows  I  was  out  with  the  First  Cavalry.  We 
42 


A    SKETCH    BY    MAcNEIL 

were  camped  on  the  Yellowstone,  and  had 
gone  to  bed.  I  heard  an  Injun  outside  ask- 
in'  about  me,  and  pretty  soon  Plenty  Coups 
comes  in,  sayin'  the  Piegans  had  got  away 
with  a  good  bunch  of  their  ponies,  but  that 
they  had  found  the  trail  crossing  a  little  way 
down  the  river,  and  Big  Horse  and  a  war- 
band  of  Crows  was  layin'  on  it,  and  they 
wanted  me  to  go  'long  with  them  and  help 
run  it.  I  didn't  have  anything  but  a  big  gov- 
ernment horse,  and  they  ain't  good  company 
for  Injun  ponies  when  they  are  runnin'  horse- 
thieves;  besides,  I  didn't  feel  called  to  bust 
my  horse  helpin'  Injuns  out  of  trouble.  There 
had  got  to  be  lots  of  white  folks  in  the  coun- 
try, and  they  wa'n't  at  all  stuck  on  havin' 
war-bands  of  Injuns  pirootin'  over  the  range. 
The  Injuns  wanted  me  to  protect  them  from 
the  cowboys,  'cause,  you  see,  all  Injuns  look 
alike  to  a  cowboy  when  they  are  runnin'  over 
his  cows.  So  Plenty  Coups  says  he  will  give 
a  pony,  and  I  says,  *  Mr.  Injun,  I  will  go 
you  one.' 

"  I  fixed  up  sort  of   warm,  'cause  it  was 
late  in  the  fall,  and  threw  my  saddle  on  the 
pony,    and  joined  the   war  -  band.     It   was 
D  ^43 


A    SKETCH    BY    MAcNEIL 

bright  moon,  and  we  ran  the  trail  slowly 
until  morning ;  and  when  it  come  day  we 
moved  along  Injun  fashion,  which  ain't  slow, 
if  you  ask  me  about  it.  We  kept  a-pushin' 
until  late  afternoon,  when  we  saw  the  Pie- 
gans,  about  seven  miles  ahead,  just  streakin' 
it  over  the  hills.  My  Injuns  got  off  their 
ponies,  and,  Injun  fashion,  they  stripped  off 
every  rag  they  had  on  except  the  G-string 
and  moccasins.  This  is  where  them  Injuns 
is  light-minded,  for  no  man  has  got  any  call 
to  go  flirtin'  with  Montana  weather  at  that 
time  of  the  year  in  his  naked  hide.  Old  man 
Mac  stands  pat  with  a  full  set  of  jeans.  And 
then  we  got  on  them  ponies  and  we  ran 
them  Piegans  as  hard  as  we  could  lather  till 
plumb  dark,  when  we  had  to  quit  because 
we  couldn't  see.  We  were  in  an  open  sage- 
brush country.  Well,  it  got  darker,  and 
darker,  and  then  it  began  to  rain.  I  sat  on 
my  saddle  and  put  my  saddle-blanket  over, 
my  head,  and  I  was  pretty  comfortable. 
Then  it  began  to  rain  for  fair.  Them  Injuns 
stamped  and  sung  and  near  froze  to  death, 
and  I  under  the  blanket  laughing  at  them. 
'Long  'bout  midnight  it  began  to  snow,  and 
44 


A    SKETCH    BY    MAcNEIL 

them  Injuns  turned  on  the  steam.  The  way 
they  sung  and  stomped  round  in  a  ring 
tickled  me  near  to  death.  The  snow  set- 
tled round  my  blanket  and  kept  out  the 
cold  in  great  shape.  I  only  had  my  nose 
out,  and  when  it  began  to  get  gray  morning 
I  had  to  just  yell  to  see  them  Injuns  out 
there  in  five  inches  of  snow,  without  a  rag  on, 
hoppin'  for  all  they  was  worth.  You  talk 
about  shootin'  up  a  fellow's  toes  to  make 
him  dance  ;  it  wa'n't  a  circumstance.  Them 
Injuns  had  to  dance  or  'cash  in.'  I  have  seen 
plenty  of  Injun  dances,  but  that  dance  had 
a  swing  to  it  that  they  don't  get  every  time. 

"  We  got  on  the  ponies  and  started  back 
through  the  falling  snow,  tryin'  to  locate 
them  annuity  goods  of  theirn.  'Course  we 
lost  the  Piegans.  We  lost  ourselves,  and  we 
didn't  find  them  clothes  till  afternoon,  'most 
eighteen  miles  back,  and  then  we  had  to  dig 
them  up,  and  they  was  as  stiff  as  par-fltche. 
Them  was  a  funny  bunch  of  warriors,  I  tell 
you. 

"We  found  an  old  big-jaw*  steer  which 

*  A  cattle  disease. 
45 


A    SKETCH    BY    MAcNEIL 

some  punchers  had  killed,  and  them  Injuns 
eat  that  all  right  ;  but  I  wasn't  hungry 
enough  yet  to  eat  big-jaw  steer,  so  I  pulled 
along  down  to  the  railroad.  I  got  a  piece  of 
bread  from  a  sheep-man,  and  when  I  got  to 
Gray  Cliffs,  on  the  N.  P.,  I  was  'most  frozen. 
My  feet  and  knees  were  all  swollen  up. 

"  Whenever  I  gets  to  thinkin'  'bout  them 
bucks  jumpin'  around  out  there  in  the  snow 
all  that  night,  and  me  a-settin'  there  under 
the  blanket,  I  has  to  laugh.  She  was  sure  a 
funny  old  revel,  boys." 

And  we  listeners  joined  him,  but  we  were 
laughing  at  MacNeil,  not  with  him. 


THE  STORY   OF  THE  DRY 
LEAVES 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  DRY 
LEAVES 

IF  one  loves  the  earth,  he  finds  a  liveliness 
in  walking  through  the  autumn  woods: 
the  color,  the  crackling,  and  the  ripeness  of 
the  time  appeal  to  his  senses  as  he  kicks 
his  way  through  the  dry  leaves  with  his 
feet. 

It  is  a  wrong  thing  to  dull  this  harmless- 
ness,  but  still  I  must  remind  him  that  it  was 
not  always  so ;  such  leaves  have  been  the 
cause  of  tragedy.  How  could  bad  come  of 
such  unoffending  trifles?  Listen. 

Long  ago  a  very  old  Indian — an  Ottawa — 
recalled  the  sad  case  of  Ah-we-ah  from  the 
nearly  forgotten  past.  His  case  was  similar 
to  ours,  only  more  serious,  since  if  we  could 
not  approach  a  deer  in  the  dry  forest  because 
of  the  noise  the  leaves  made  it  meant  only 
49 


STORY    OF    THE    DRY    LEAVES 

disappointment,  but  with  Ah-we-ah  it  meant 
his  utter  undoing. 

Ah-we-ah  grew  up  or  came  up  as  all  Indian 
boys  do  who  manage  to  escape  the  deadfalls 
which  nature  sets  in  such  numbers  and  vari- 
ety for  them,  and  was  at  the  time  of  the  story 
barely  a  man.  His  folks  lived  in  the  North- 
west, in  what  is  now  known  as  Manitoba,  and 
they  were  of  the  Ojibbeway  people.  As  was 
a  very  common  thing  in  those  days,  they  were 
all  murdered  by  the  Sioux;  the  very  last  kins- 
man Ah-we-ah  had  on  earth  was  dead  when 
Ah-we-ah  came  in  one  day  from  his  hunting 
and  saw  their  bodies  lying  charred  and  wolf- 
eaten  about  the  ashes  of  his  father's  lodge. 

He  found  himself  utterly  alone  in  the 
world. 

The  woods  Indians,  who  followed  the 
moose,  the  bear,  and  trapped  the  small  ani- 
mals for  the  Fur  Company,  did  not  live  to- 
gether in  great  tribal  bodies,  as  did  the  buffalo 
Indians,  but  scattered  out,  the  better  to  fol- 
low the  silent  methods  of  their  livelihood. 

Ah-we-ah  was  thus  forced  to  live  alone  in 
the  forest  that  winter,  and  his  little  bark  hut 
was  cold  and  fireless  when  he  came  in  at 
50 


STORY    OF    THE    DRY    LEAVES 

night,  tired  with  the  long  day's  hunting.  This 
condition  continued  for  a  time,  until  grief  and 
a  feeling  of  loneliness  determined  Ah-we-ah 
to  start  in  search  of  a  war  party,  that  he  might 
accompany  them  against  their  enemies,  and 
have  an  opportunity  to  sacrifice  honorably  a 
life  which  had  become  irksome  to  him. 

Leaving  his  belongings  on  a  "  sunjegwun," 
or  scaffold  made  of  stout  poles,  he  shouldered 
his  old  trade  gun,  his  dry  meat,  called  his 
wolf-dogs,  and  betook  himself  three  days 
through  the  forest  to  the  small  settlement 
made  by  the  hunting-camps  of  his  tribesman, 
old  Bent  Gun, — a  settlement  lying  about  a 
series  of  ponds,  of  which  no  name  is  saved 
for  this  story;  nor  does  it  matter  now  which 
particular  mud-holes  they  were — so  long  ago 
— out  there  in  the  trackless  waste  of  poplar 
and  tamarack. 

The  people  are  long  since  gone  ;  the  camps 
are  mould ;  the  very  trees  they  lived  among 
are  dead  and  down  this  many  a  year. 

So  the  lonely  hunter  came  to  the  lodge  of 

his  friend,  and  sat  him  down  on  a  skin,  across 

the  fire  from  Bent  Gun ;   and  as  he  dipped 

his  hollow  buffalo  horn  into  the  pot  he  talked 

5' 


STORY    OF    THE    DRY    LEAVES 

of  his  losses,  his  revenge,  his  war-ardor,  in- 
quired where  he  was  like  to  find  a  fellow- 
feeling — yes,  even  pleaded  with  the  old  man 
that  he  and  his  sons  too  might  go  forth  to- 
gether with  him  and  slay  some  other  simple 
savage  as  a  spiritual  relief  to  themselves.  He 
chanted  his  war-song  by  the  night  fire  in  the 
lodge,  to  the  discomfort  and  disturbance  of 
old  Bent  Gun,  who  had  large  family  interests 
and  was  minded  to  stay  in  his  hunting- 
grounds,  which  had  yielded  well  to  his  traps 
and  stalking ;  .besides  which  the  snow  was 
deep,  and  the  Sioux  were  far  away.  It  was 
not  the  proper  time  of  the  year  for  war. 

By  day  Ah-we-ah  hunted  with  old  Bent 
Gun,  and  they  killed  moose  easily  in  their 
yards,  while  the  women  cut  them  up  and 
drew  them  to  the  camps.  Thus  they  were 
happy  in  the  primeval  way,  what  with  plenty 
of  maple-sugar,  bears'  grease,  and  the  kettle 
always  steaming  full  of  fresh  meat. 

But  still  by  night  Ah-we-ah  continued  to 
exalt  the  nobleness  of  the  wearing  of  the  red 
paint  and  the  shrill  screams  of  battle  to  his 
tribesmen ;  but  old  Bent  Gun  did  not  suc- 
cumb to  their  spirit ;  there  was  meat,  and  his 
52 


STORY    OF    THE    DRY    LEAVES 

family  were  many.  This  finally  was  under- 
stood by  Ah-we-ah,  who,  indeed,  had  come  to 
notice  the  family,  and  one  of  them  in  particu- 
lar— a  young  girl ;  and  also  he  was  conscious 
of  the  abundance  of  cheer  in  the  teeming 
lodge. 

In  the  contemplation  of  life  as  it  passed 
before  his  eyes  he  found  that  his  gaze  centred 
more  and  more  on  the  girl.  He  watched  her 
cutting  up  the  moose  and  hauling  loads 
through  the  woods  with  her  dogs.  She  was 
dutiful.  Her  smile  warmed  him.  Her  voice 
came  softly,  and  her  form,  as  it  cut  against 
the  snow,  was  good  to  look  at  in  the  eyes  of 
the  young  Indian  hunter.  He  knew,  since 
his  mother  and  sister  had  gone,  that  no  man 
can  live  happily  in  a  lodge  without  a  woman. 
And  as  the  girl  passed  her  dark  eyes  across 
his,  it  left  a  feeling  after  their  gaze  had  gone. 
He  was  still  glorious  with  the  lust  of  murder, 
but  a  new  impulse  had  seized  him — it  swayed 
him,  and  it  finally  overpowered  him  alto- 
gether. 

When  one  day  he  had  killed  a  moose  early 
in  the  morning,  he  came  back  to  the  camp 
asking  the  women  to  come  out  and  help  him 
53 


STORY    OF    THE    DRY    LEAVES 

in  with  the  meat,  and  Mis-kau-bun-o-kwa,  or 
the  "  Red  Light  of  the  Morning,"  and  her 
old  mother  accompanied  him  to  his  quarry. 

As  they  stalked  in  procession  through  the 
sunlit  winter  forest,  the  young  savage  gazed 
with  glowing  eyes  upon  the  girl  ahead  of  him. 
He  was  a  sturdy  man  in  whom  life  ran  high, 
and  he  had  much  character  after  his  manner 
and  his  kind.  He  forgot  the  scalps  of  his 
tribal  enemies;  they  were  crowded  out  by  a 
higher  and  more  immediate  purpose.  He 
wanted  the  girl,  and  he  wanted  her  with  all 
the  fierce  resistlessness  of  a  nature  which  fol- 
lowed its  inclinations  as  undisturbedly  as  the 
wolf — which  was  his  totem. 

The  little  party  came  presently  to  the 
dead  moose,  and  the  women,  with  the  heavy 
skinning-knives,  dismembered  the  great  ma- 
hogany mass  of  hair,  while  the  craunching 
snow  under  the  moccasins  grew  red  about  it. 
Some  little  distance  off  stood  the  young 
man,  leaning  on  his  gun,  and  with  his  blanket 
drawn  about  him  to  his  eyes.  He  watched 
the  girl  while  she  worked,  and  his  eyes  di- 
lated and  opened  wide  under  the  impulse. 
The  blood  surged  and  bounded  through  his 
54 


STORY    OF    THE    DRY    LEAVES 

veins — he  was  hungry  for  her,  like  a  famished 
tiger  which  stalks  a  gazelle.  They  packed 
their  sleds  and  hung  the  remainder  in  the 
trees  to  await  another  coming. 

The  old  woman,  having  made  her  load, 
passed  backward  along  the  trail,  tugging  at 
her  head -line  and  ejaculating  gutturals  at 
her  dogs.  Then  Ah-we-ah  stepped  quickly 
to  the  girl,  who  was  bent  over  her  sled,  and 
seizing  her,  he  threw  his  blanket  with  a  deft 
sweep  over  her  head;  he  wrapped  it  around 
them  both,  and  they  were  alone  under  its 
protecting  folds.  They  spoke  together  until 
the  old  woman  called  to  them,  when  he  re- 
leased her.  The  girl  followed  on,  but  Ah- 
we-ah  stood  by  the  blood  -  stained  place 
quietly,  without  moving  for  a  long  time. 

That  night  he  did  not  speak  of  war  to  old 
Bent  Gun,  but  he  begged  his  daughter  of 
him,  and  the  old  man  called  the  girl  and  set 
her  down  beside  Ah-we-ah.  An  old  squaw 
threw  a  blanket  over  them,  and  they  were 
man  and  wife. 

In  a  day  or  two  the  young  man  had  washed 
the  red  paint  from  his  face,  and  he  had  a 
longing  for  his  own  lodge,  three  days  away 
E  SSL 


STORY    OF    THE    DRY    LEAVES 

through  the  thickets.  It  would  not  be  so 
lonesome  now,  and  his  fire  would  always  be 
burning. 

He  called  his  dogs,  and  with  his  wife  they 
all  betook  themselves  on  the  tramp  to  his 
hunting-grounds.  The  snow  had  long  since 
filled  up  the  tracks  Ah-we-ah  had  made  when 
he  came  to  Bent  Gun's  camp. 

He  set  up  his  lodge,  hunted  successfully, 
and  forgot  his  past  as  he  sat  by  the  crackle 
of  the  fire,  while  the  woman  mended  his 
buckskins,  dried  his  moccasins,  and  lighted 
his  long  pipe.  Many  beaver-skins  he  had  on 
his  "  sunjegwun,"  and  many  good  buckskins 
were  made  by  his  wife,  and  when  they  packed 
up  in  the  spring,  the  big  canoe  was  full  of 
stuff  which  would  bring  powder,  lead,  beads, 
tobacco,  knives,  axes,  and  stronding,  or 
squaw- cloth,  at  the  stores  of  the  Northwest 
Company. 

Ah-we-ah  would  have  been  destitute  if  he 
had  not  been  away  when  his  family  were 
killed  by  the  Sioux,  and,  as  it  was,  he  had 
little  beyond  what  any  hunter  has  with  him  ; 
but  he  had  saved  his  traps,  his  canoe,  and  his 
dogs,  which  in  the  old  days  were  nearly  every- 
56 


STORY    OF    THE    DRV    LEAVES 

thing  except  the  lordly  gun  and  the  store  of 
provisions  which  might  happen. 

At  a  camp  where  many  of  the  tribe  stopped 
and  made  maple- sugar,  the  young  pair  tar- 
ried and  boiled  sap  along  with  the  others, 
until  they  had  enough  sweets  for  the  Indian 
year.  And  when  the  camp  broke  up  they 
followed  on  to  the  post  of  the  big  company, 
where  they  traded  for  the  year's  supplies — 
"  double-battle  Sussex  powder "  in  corked 
bottles,  pig-lead,  blue  and  red  stronding,  hard 
biscuit,  steel  traps,  axes,  and  knives.  It  is 
not  for  us  to  know  if  they  helped  the  com- 
pany's dividends  by  the  purchase  of  the  vil- 
lanous  "  made  whiskey,"  as  it  was  called  in 
the  trade  parlance,  but  the  story  relates  that 
his  canoe  was  deep-laden  when  he  started 
away  into  the  wilderness. 

The  canoe  was  old  and  worn  out,  so  Ah- 
we-ah  purposed  to  make  a  new  one.  He  was 
young,  and  it  is  not  every  old  man  even  who 
can  make  a  canoe,  but  since  the  mechanical 
member  of  his  family  had  his  "  fire  put  out  " 
by  the  Sioux  on  that  memorable  occasion, 
it  was  at  least  necessary  that  he  try.  So  he 
worked  at  its  building,  and  in  due  time 
57 


STORY    OF    THE    DRY    LEAVES 

launched  his  bark;  but  it  was  "quick"  in 
the  water,  and  one  day  shortly  it  tipped 
over  with  him  while  on  his  journey  to  his 
hunting-grounds.  He  lost  all  his  provi- 
sions, his  sugar,  biscuits,  and  many  things 
besides,  but  saved  his  gun.  He  was  suffer- 
ing from  hunger  when  he  again  found  the 
company's  store,  but  having  made  a  good 
hunt  the  year  before,  the  factor  made  him  a 
meagre  credit  of  powder,  lead,  and  the  few 
necessary  things.  He  found  himself  very 
poor. 

In  due  course  Ah-we-ah  and  his  family  set 
up  their  lodge.  They  were  alone  in  the 
country,  which  had  been  hunted  poor.  The 
other  people  had  gone  far  away  to  new 
grounds,  but  the  young  man  trusted  himself 
and  his  old  locality.  He  was  not  wise  like 
the  wolves  and  the  old  Indians,  who  follow 
ceaselessly,  knowing  that  to  stop  is  to  die  of 
hunger.  He  hunted  faithfully,  and  while  he 
laid  by  no  store,  his  kettle  was  kept  full,  and 
so  the  summer  passed. 

He  now  directed  himself  more  to  the  hunt- 
ing of  beaver,  of  which  he  knew  of  the  pres- 
ence of  about  twenty  gangs  within  working 
58 


STORY    OF    THE    DRY    LEAVES 

distance  of  his  camp.  But  when  he  went  to 
break  up  their  houses  he  found  nearly  all  of 
them  empty.  He  at  last  discovered  that  some 
distemper  had  seized  upon  the  beaver,  and 
that  they  had  died.  He  recovered  one  which 
was  dying  in  the  water,  and  when  he  cut  it 
up  it  had  a  bloody  flux  about  the  heart,  and 
he  was  afraid  to  eat  it.  And  so  it  was  with 
others.  This  was  a  vast  misfortune  to  the 
young  hunter  ;  but  still  there  were  the  elk. 
He  had  shot  four  up  to  this  time,  and  there 
was  "sign"  of  moose  passing  about.  The 
leaves  fell,  and  walking  in  them  he  made  a 
great  noise,  and  was  forced  to  run  down  an 
elk — a  thing  which  could  be  done  by  a 
young  and  powerful  man,  but  it  was  very 
exhausting. 

When  an  Indian  hunts  the  elk  in  this 
manner,  after  he  starts  the  herd,  he  follows 
at  such  a  gait  as  he  thinks  he  can  maintain 
for  many  hours.  The  elk,  being  frightened, 
outstrip  him  at  first  by  many  miles,  but  the 
Indian,  following  at  a  steady  pace  along  the 
trail,  at  length  comes  in  sight  of  them ;  then 
they  make  another  effort,  and  are  no  more 
seen  for  an  hour  or  two ;  but  the  intervals 
59 


STORY    OF    THE    DRY    LEAVES 

in  which  the  Indian  has  them  in  sight  grow 
more  and  more  frequent  and  longer  and 
longer,  until  he  ceases  to  lose  sight  of  them 
at  all.  The  elk  are  now  so  much  fatigued 
that  they  can  only  move  at  a  slow  trot.  At 
last  they  can  but  walk,  by  which  time  the 
strength  of  the  Indian  is  nearly  exhausted  ; 
but  he  is  commonly  able  to  get  near  enough 
to  fire  into  the  rear  of  the  herd.  This  kind 
of  hunting  is  what  Ah-we-ah  was  at  last  com- 
pelled to  do.  He  could  no  longer  stalk  with 
success,  because  the  season  was  dry  and  the 
dead  leaves  rattled  under  his  moccasins. 

He  found  a  band,  and  all  day  long  the 
hungry  Indian  strove  behind  the  flying  elk  ; 
but  he  did  not  come  up,  and  night  found  him 
weak  and  starved.  He  lay  down  by  a  little 
fire,  and  burned  tobacco  to  the  four  corners 
of  the  world,  and  chanted  softly  his  medicine- 
song,  and  devoutly  hoped  that  his  young 
wife  might  soon  have  meat.  It  might  be 
that  on  his  return  to  his  lodge  he  would  hear 
another  voice  beside  that  familiar  one. 

Ah-we-ah  slept  until  the  gray  came  in  the 
east,  and  girding  himself,  he  sped  on  through 
the  forest ;  the  sun  came  and  found  the  buck- 
60 


"THE   MOOSE   COULD   HEAR   HIM   COMING   FOR   AN   HOUR 


STORY    OF    THE    DRY    LEAVES 

skinned  figure  gliding  through  the  woods. 
Through  the  dry  light  of  the  day  he  sweated, 
and  in  the  late  afternoon  shot  a  young  elk. 
He  cut  away  what  meat  he  could  carry  in 
his  weakness,  ate  the  liver  raw,  and  with  lag- 
ging steps  hastened  backward  to  his  far-off 
lodge. 

The  sun  was  again  high  before  Ah-we-ah 
raised  the  entrance-mat  of  his  home,  and  it 
was  some  moments  before  he  could  discern 
in  the  dusk  that  the  wife  was  not  alone. 
Hunger  had  done  its  work,  and  the  young 
mother  had  suffered  more  than  women  ought. 

Her  strength  had  gone. 

The  man  made  broth,  and  together  they 
rested,  these  two  unfortunates  ;  but  on  the 
following  day  nature  again  interposed  the 
strain  of  the  tightened  belly. 

Ah-we-ah  went  forth  through  the  noisy 
leaves.  If  rain  or  snow  would  come  to  soften 
the  noise;  but  no;  the  cloudless  sky  over- 
spread the  yellow  and  red  of  the  earth's  car- 
pet. No  matter  with  what  care  the  wary 
moccasin  was  set  to  the  ground,  the  sweesh- 
sweesh  of  the  moving  hunter  carried  terror 
and  warning  to  all  animal  kind.  He  could 
61 


STORY    OF    THE    DRY    LEAVES 

not  go  back  to  the  slaughtered  elk  ;  it  was 
too  far  for  that,  and  the  wolf  and  wolver- 
ene had  been  there  before.  Through  the 
long  day  no  hairy  or  feathered  kind  passed 
before  his  eye.  At  nightfall  he  built  his  fire, 
and  sat  crooning  his  medicine-song  until  nat- 
ure intervened  her  demands  for  repose. 

With  the  early  light  Ah-we-ah  looked  on 
the  girl  and  her  baby. 

The  baby  was  cold. 

The  dry  breasts  of  Mis-kau-bun-o-kwa  had 
been  of  no  purpose  to  this  last  comer,  but 
the  mother  resisted  Ah-we-ah  when  he  tried 
to  take  the  dead  child  away,  and  he  left  it. 
This  cut  and  maddened  the  hunter's  mind, 
and  he  cursed  aloud  his  medicine-bag,  and 
flung  it  from  him.  It  had  not  brought  him 
even  a  squirrel  to  stay  the  life  of  his  first- 
born. His  famished  dogs  had  gone  away, 
hunting  for  themselves;  they  would  no 
longer  stay  by  the  despairing  master  and  his 
dreary  lodge. 

Again  he  dragged  his  wretched  form  into 

the  forest,  and  before  the  sun  was  an  hour 

high  the  blue  smoke  had  ceased  to  curl  over 

the  woful  place,  and  the  fainting  woman  lay 

62 


STORY    OF    THE    DRY    LEAVES 

quite  still  on  her  robe.  Through  the  dry 
brush  and  the  crackling  leaves  ranged  the 
starving  one,  though  his  legs  bent  and  his 
head  reeled.  The  moose  could  hear  him  for 
an  hour. 

And  again  at  evening  he  returned  to  his 
bleak  refuge ;  the  hut  was  gray  and  lifeless. 
He  dropped  into  his  place  without  making  a 
fire.  He  knew  that  the  woman  was  going 
from  him.  From  the  opposite  side  of  the  wig- 
wam she  moaned  weakly — he  could  scarcely 
hear  her. 

Ah-we-ah  called  once  more  upon  his  gods, 
to  the  regular  thump-thump  of  his  tomtom. 
It  was  his  last  effort — his  last  rage  at  fate. 
If  the  spirits  did  not  come  now,  the  life 
would  soon  go  out  of  the  abode  of  Ah-we-ah, 
even  as  the  fire  had  gone. 

He  beat  and  sang  through  the  doleful  si- 
lence, and  from  the  dark  tamaracks  the 
wolves  made  answer.  They  too  were  hun- 
gry- 

The  air,  the  leaves,  the  trees,  were  still ; 

they  listened  to  the  low  moan  of  the  woman, 

to  the  dull  thump  of  the  tomtom,  to  the 

long  piercing  howl  of  the  wolf,  the  low  rising 

63 


STORY    OF    THE    DRY    LEAVES 

and  falling  voice  of  the  man  chanting:  "He- 
ah  neen-gui-o-ho  o-ho  man-i-to-we-tah-hah 
gah-neen-qui-o  we-i-ah-nah  we-he-a." 

The  air  grew  chill  and  cold.  Ah-we-ah 
was  aroused  from  his  deep  communion  by 
cold  spots  on  his  face.  He  opened  the  door- 
mat. He  peered  into  the  gray  light  of  the 
softly  falling  snow.  The  spirits  had  come  to 
him,  he  had  a  new  energy,  and  seizing  his 
gun,  the  half-delirious  man  tottered  into  the 
forest,  saying  softly  to  himself:  "  A  bear — I 
walk  like  a  bear  myself — myself  I  walk  like  a 
bear — a  beast  comes  calling — I  am  loaded — I 
am  ready.  Oh,  my  spirit!  Oh,  my  manitou!" 

A  black  mass  crossed  the  Indian's  path- 
it  had  not  heard  the  moccasins  in  the  muffle 
of  the  snow.  The  old  trade  gun  boomed 
through  the  forest,  and  the  manitou  had  sent 
at  last  to  Ah-we-ah  a  black  bear.  He  tore 
out  his  knife  and  cut  a  small  load  of  meat 
from  the  bear,  and  then  he  strode  on  his 
back  track  as  swiftly  as  he  could  in  his  weak- 
ness. He  came  to  the  hole  in  the  forest  in 
the  middle  of  which  sat  the  lodge,  calling  : 
"  Mis-kau-bun-6-kwa!  Mis-kau-bun-o-kwa!" 
but  there  was  no  answer. 
64 


STORY    OF    THE    DRY    LEAVES 

He  quickly  lighted  a  fire — he  threw  meat 
upon  it,  and  bending  backward  from  the 
flame,  touched  her,  saying,  "  Good  bear, 
Mis-kau-bun-o-kwa ;  I  have  a  good  bear  for 
the  bud-ka  da-win —  for  the  hunger";  but 
Mis-kau-bun-o-kwa  could  not  answer  Ah-we- 
ah.  The  dry  leaves  had  lasted  longer  than 
she. 


A  FAILURE  OF  JUSTICE 


A  FAILURE   OF  JUSTICE 

GAPTAIN  HALLERAN  of  the  dra- 
goons stepped  off  the  way  freight  at 
Alkali  Flat,  which  sort  of  place  has  been 
well  described  as  a  "  roaring  board  and  can- 
vas city";  only  in  justice  to  certain  ancient 
adobe  huts  I  should  mention  their  presence. 

He  was  on  government  business  connect- 
ed with  the  Indian  war  then  raging  in  the 
Territory,  and  Alkali  Flat  was  a  temporary 
military  depot  piled  high  with  crackers, 
bacon,  cartridges,  and  swarming  with  mules, 
dusty  men,  and  all  the  turmoil  which  gath- 
ers about  a  place  where  Uncle  Sam  dispenses 
dollars  to  his  own. 

The  captain  was  a  gentleman  and  a  schol- 
ar, but  he  didn't  Ipok  the  part.  What  sweat 
and  alkali  dust  won't  do  to  a  uniform,  sleep- 
ing on  the  ground  in  it  for  a  month  or  two 
will  do,  and  then  he  was  burned  like  a  ripe 
69 


A    FAILURE    OF    JUSTICE 

peach.  This  always  happens  to  American 
soldiers  in  wars,  whatever  may  be  the  case 
in  Europe.  The  captain's  instincts,  how- 
ever, had  undergone  no  change  whatever,  and 
the  dust-blown  plaza  did  not  appeal  to  him 
as  he  sauntered  across  towards  the  long  row 
of  one-storied  shanties.  There  was  a  dismal 
array  of  signs — "  The  Venus,"  "  The  Medi- 
cine Queen,"  "  The  Beer  Spring,"  "  The  Free 
and  Easy  " — but  they  did  not  invite  the  cap- 
tain. There  were  two  or  three  outfitting 
stores  which  relieved  the  business  aspect,  but 
the  simple  bed  and  board  which  the  captain 
wanted  was  not  there,  unless  with  its  tin-pan 
piano  or  gambling-chip  accompaniment. 

He  met  a  man  who  had  the  local  color,  and 
asked  if  there  was  not  in  the  town  a  hotel 
run  somewhat  more  on  the  ancient  lines. 

"  Sure  there  is,  cap,  right  over  to  the 
woman's,"  said  he,  pointing.  "  They  don't 
have  no  hell  round  the  old  woman's.  That's 
barred  in  this  plaza,  and  she  can  cook  jes  like 
mother.  That's  the  old  woman's  over  thar 
whar  yu'  see  the  flowers  in  front  and  the  two 
green  trees  —  jes  nex'  the  Green  Cloth  sa- 
loon." 

70 


"THE  CAPTAIN  WAS  A  GENTLEMAN 


A    FAILURE    OF    JUSTICE 

The  captain  entered  the  place,  which  was 
a  small  bar-room  with  a  pool-table  in  the 
centre,  and  back  of  this  a  dining-room. 
Behind  the  bar  stood  a  wholesome-looking 
woman  in  a  white  calico  dress,  far  enough 
this  side  of  middle  age  to  make  "  old  woman  " 
libellous  as  applied  to  her. 

"  Good  -evening,  madam,"  ventured  the 
captain,  feeling  that  such  a  woman  could 
not  escape  matrimony  at  the  Flat. 

"  Good  -  evening,  captain.  Want  some 
supper?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  and  I  guess  I  will  take  a 
drink — a  cocktail,  if  you  please,"  as  he  leaned 
on  the  bar. 

"Captain,  the  boys  say  I  am  a  pretty  bad 
bartender.  I'll  jes  give  yu*  the  stuff,  and  you 
can  fix  it  up  to  your  taste.  I  don't  drink 
this,  and  so  I  don't  know  what  men  like. 
It's  grub  and  beds  I  furnish  mostly,  but  you 
can't  exactly  run  a  hotel  without  a  bar.  My 
customers  sort  of  come  in  here  and  tend  bar 
for  themselves.  Have  a  lemon -peel,  cap- 
tain ?" 

The  captain  comprehended,  mixed  and 
drank  his  cocktail,  and  was  ushered  into  the 


A    FAILURE    OF    JUSTICE 

dining-room.  It  was  half  full  of  picturesque 
men  in  their  shirt- sleeves,  or  in  canvas  and 
dusty  boots.  They  were  mostly  red-faced, 
bearded,  and  spiked  with  deadly  weapons. 
They  were  quiet  and  courteous. 

Over  his  bottle  the  American  is  garrulous, 
but  he  handles  his  food  with  silent  earnest- 
ness. 

Chinamen  did  the  waiting,  and  there  was 
no  noise  other  than  the  clatter  of  weapons, 
for  the  three-tined  fork  must  be  regarded  as 
such.  The  captain  fell  to  with  the  rest,  and 
found  the  food  an  improvement  on  field- 
rations.  He  presently  asked  a  neighbor 
about  the  hostess  —  how  she  managed  to 
compete  with  the  more  pretentious  resorts. 
Was  it  not  a  hard  place  for  a  woman  to  do 
business? 

"Yes,  pard,  yu*  might  say  it  is  rough  on 
some  of  the  ladies  what's  sportin'  in  this 
plaza,  but  the  old  woman  never  has  no 
trouble."  And  his  new  acquaintance  leaned 
over  and  whispered:  "She's  on  the  squar', 
pard  ;  she's  a  plum'  good  woman,  and  this 
plaza  sort  of  stands  for  her.  She's  as  solid 
as  a  brick  church  here." 
72 


A    FAILURE    OF    JUSTICE 

The  captain's  friend  and  he,  having  wres- 
tled their  ration,  adjoined  to  the  sidewalk, 
and  the  friend  continued  :  "She  was  wife  to 
an  old  sergeant  up  at  the  post,  and  he  went 
and  died.  The  boys  here  wanted  a  eatin'- 
joint,  bein'  tired  of  the  local  hash,  which  I 
honest  can  tell  you  was  most  d —  -  bad;  so 
they  gets  her  down  here  to  ride  herd  on 
this  bunch  of  Chinamen  topside.  She  does 
pretty  well  for  herself — gives  us  good  grub, 
and  all  that — but  she  gets  sort  of  stampeded 
at  times  over  the  goin's  on  in  this  plaza,  and 
the  committee  has  to  go  out  and  hush  'em 
up.  Course  the  boys  gets  tangled  up  with 
their  irons,  and  then  they  are  packed  in  here, 
and  if  the  old  woman  can't  nurse  'em  back 
to  life  they  has  to  go.  There  is  quite  a  little 
bunch  of  fellers  here  what  she  has  set  up 
with  nights,  and  they  got  it  put  up  that  she 

is  about  the  best  d woman  on  the  earth. 

They  sort  of  stand  together  when  any  alco- 
holic patient  gets  to  yellin'  round  the  old 
woman's  or  some  sportin'  lady  goes  after  the 
woman's  hair.  About  every  loose  feller 
round  yer  has  asked  the  old  woman  to  marry 
him,  which  is  why  she  ain't  popular  with  the 
73 


A    FAILURE    OF    JUSTICE 

ladies.  She  plays  'em  all  alike  and  don't 
seem  to  marry  much,  and  this  town  makes  a 
business  of  seein'  she  always  lands  feet  first, 
so  when  any  one  gets  to  botherin',  the  com- 
mittee comes  round  arid  runs  him  off  the 
range.  It  sure  is  unhealthy  fer  any  feller  to 
get  loaded  and  go  jumpin'  sideways  round 
this  'dobie.  Sabe  ?" 

The  captain  did  his  military  business  at 
the  quartermaster's,  and  then  repaired  to  the 
old  woman's  bar-room  to  smoke  and  wait  for 
the  down  freight.  She  was  behind  the  bar, 
washing  glasses. 

A  customer  came  in,  and  she  turned  to  him. 

"  Brandy,  did  yu'  say,  John  ?" 

"  Yes,  madam  ;  that's  mine." 

"  I  don't  know  brandy  from  whiskey, 
John  ;  yu'  jes  smell  that  bottle." 

John  put  the  bottle  to  his  olfactories  and 
ejaculated,  "  Try  again  ;  that  ain't  brandy, 
fer  sure." 

Madam  produced  another  bottle,  which 
stood  the  test,  and  the  man  poured  his  por- 
tion and  passed  out. 

Alkali  Flat  was  full  of  soldiers,  cow-men, 
prospectors  who  had  been  chased  out  of  the 
74 


A    FAILURE    OF    JUSTICE 

hills  by  the  Apaches,  government  freighters 
who  had  come  in  for  supplies,  and  the  gam- 
blers and  whiskey-sellers  who  helped  them  to 
sandwich  a  little  hilarity  into  their  business 
trips. 

As  the  evening  wore  on  the  blood  of  Al- 
kali Flat  began  to  circulate.  Next  door  to 
the  old  woman's  the  big  saloons  were  in  a  riot. 
Glasses  clinked,  loud-lunged  laughter  and  de- 
moniac yells  mixed  with  the  strained  piano, 
over  which  untrained  fingers  banged  and  pir- 
ouetted. Dancers  bounded  to  the  snapping 
fiddle  tones  of  "Old  Black  Jack."  The  chips 
on  the  faro-table  clattered,  the  red-and-black 
man  howled,  while  from  the  streets  at  times 
came  drunken  whoops  mingled  with  the 
haw-haws  of  mules  over  in  the  quartermas- 
ter's corral. 

Madam  looked  towards  the  captain,  say- 
ing, "  Did  you  ever  hear  so  much  noise  in 
your  life?" 

"  Not  since  Gettysburg,"  replied  the  ad- 
dressed. "My  tastes  are  quiet,  but  I  should 
think  Gettysburg  the  most  enjoyable  of  the 
two.  But  I  suppose  these  people  think  this 
is  great  fun." 

75 


A    FAILURE    OF    JUSTICE 

"Yes,  they  live  so  quiet  out  in  the  hills 
that  they  like  to  get  into  this  bedlam  when 
they  are  in  town.  It  sort  of  stirs  them  up," 
explained  the  hostess. 

"  Do  they  never  trouble  you,  madam  ?" 

"  No — except  for  this  noise.  I  have  had 
bullets  come  in  here,  but  they  wasn't  meant 
for  me.  They  get  drunk  outside  and  shoot 
wild  sometimes.  I  tell  the  boys  plainly  that 
I  don't  want  none  of  them  to  come  in  here 
drunk,  and  I  don't  care  to  do  any  business 
.after  supper.  They  don't  come  around  here 
after  dark  much.  I  couldn't  stand  it  if  they 
did.  I  would  have  to  pull  up." 

A  drunken  man  staggered  to  the  door  of 
the  little  hotel,  saw  the  madam  behind  the 
bar,  received  one  look  of  scorn,  and  backed 
out  again  with  a  muttered  "  Scuse  me,  lady ; 
no  harm  done." 

Presently  in  rolled  three  young  men,  full 
of  the  confidence  which  much  too  much 
liquor  will  give  to  men.  They  ordered 
drinks  at  the  bar  roughly.  Their  Derby 
hats  proclaimed  them  Easterners — railroad 
tramps  or  some  such  rubbish,  thought  the 
captain.  Their  conversation  had  the  glib 
76 


A    FAILURE    OF    JUSTICE 

vulgarity  of  the  big  cities,  with  many  of 
their  catch  phrases,  and  they  proceeded  to 
jolly  the  landlady  in  a  most  offensive  way. 
She  tried  to  brave  it  out,  until  one  of  them 
reached  over  the  bar  and  chucked  her  under 
the  chin.  Then  she  lifted  her  apron  to  her 
face  and  began  to  cry. 

The  wise  mind  of  the  captain  knew  that 
society  at  Alkali  Flat  worked  like  an  naph- 
tha-engine— by  a  series  of  explosions.  And 
he  saw  a  fearful  future  for  the  small  bar- 
room. 

Rising,  he  said,  "Here,  here,  young  men, 
you  had  better  behave  yourselves,  or  you 
will  get  killed." 

Turning  with  a  swagger,  one  of  the  hoboes 
said,  "  Ah !  whose  '11  kill  us,  youse ?" 

"  No,  he  won't !"  This  was  shouted  in  a 
resounding  way  into  the  little  room,  and  all 
eyes  turned  to  the  spot  from  which  the  voice 
came.  Against  the  black  doorway  stood  Dan 
Dundas — the  gambler  who  ran  the  faro  lay- 
out next  door,  and  in  his  hands,  were  two 
Colts  levelled  at  the  toughs,  while  over  them 
gleamed  steadily  two  blue  eyes  like  planet- 
ary stars  against  the  gloom  of  his  complex- 
77 


A    FAILURE    OF    JUSTICE 

ion.     "  No,  he  won't  kill  yu';  he  don't  have 
to  kill  yu'.     I  will  do  that." 

With  a  hysterical  scream  the  woman  flew 
to  her  knight -errant.  "Stop  —  stop  that, 
Dan!  Don't  you  shoot  —  don't  you  shoot, 
Dan!  If  you  love  me,  Dan,  don't,  don't!" 

With  the  quiet  drawl  of  the  Southwest  the 
man  in  command  of  the  situation  replied: 
"  Well,  I  reckon  I'll  sure  have  to,  little  wom- 
an. Please  don't  put  your  hand  on  my  guns. 
Mabeso  I  won't  shoot,  but,  Helen  — but  I 
ought  to,  all  right.  Hadn't  I,  captain  ?" 

Many  heads  lighted  up  the  doorway  back 
of  the  militant  Dan,  but  the  captain  blew  a 
whiff  of  smoke  towards  the  ceiling  and  said 
nothing. 

The  three  young  men  were  scared  rigid. 
They  held  their  extremities  as  the  quick  sit- 
uation had  found  them.  If  they  had  not 
been  scared,  they  would  still  have  failed  to 
understand  the  abruptness  of  things;  but 
one  found  tongue  to  blurt: 

"Don't  shoot!  We  didn't  do  nothin', 
mister." 

Another  resounding  roar  came  from  Dan, 
"  Shut  up!"     And  the  quiet  was  opaque. 
78 


A    FAILURE    OF    JUSTICE 

"Yes,"  said  the  captain,  as  he  leaned  on 
the  billiard-table,  "you  fellows  have  got 
through  your  talking.  Any  one  can  see 
that ;"  and  he  knocked  the  ash  off  his  cigar. 

"What  did  they  do,  Helen?"  And  Dan 
bent  his  eyes  on  the  woman  for  the  briefest 
of  instants. 

Up  went  the  apron  to  her  face,  and  through 
it  she  sobbed,  "They  chucked  me  under  the 
chin,  Dan,  and — and  one  of  them  said  I  was 
a  pretty  girl — and — " 

"  Oh,  well,  I  ain't  sayin'  he's  a  liar,  but  he 
'ain't  got  no  call  for  to  say  it.  I  guess  we 
had  better  get  the  committee  and  lariat  'em 
up  to  a  telegraph  pole — sort  of  put  'em  on 
the  Western  Union  line  —  or  I'll  shoot  'em. 
Whatever  you  says  goes,  Helen,"  pleaded 
justice  amid  its  perplexities. 

"No,  no,  Dan!  Tell  me  you  won't  kill 
'em.  I  won't  like  you  any  more  if  you  do." 

"  Well,  I  sure  ought  to,  Helen.  I  can't 
have  these  yer  hoboes  cornin'  round  here  in- 
sultin'  of  my  girl.  Now  yu'  allow  that's  so, 
don't  yu'?" 

"  Well,  don't  kill  'em,  Dan  ;  but  I'd  like  to 
tell  'em  what  I  think  of  them,  though." 
G  79 


A    FAILURE    OF    JUSTICE 

"Turn  her  loose,  Helen.  If  yu'  feel  like 
talkin',  just  yu'  talk.  You're  a  woman,  and 
it  does  a  woman  a  heap  of  good  to  talk  ;  but 
if  yu'  don't  want  to  talk,  I'll  turn  these  guns 
loose,  or  we'll  call  the  committee  without  no 
further  remarks — jes  as  you  like,  Helen.  It's 
your  play." 

The  captain  felt  that  the  three  hoboes 
were  so  taken  up  with  Dan's  guns  that 
Helen's  eloquence  would  lose  its  force  on 
them.  He  also  had  a  weak  sympathy  for 
them,  knowing  that  they  had  simply  applied 
the  low  street  customs  of  an  Eastern  city  in 
a  place  were  customs  were  low  enough,  ex- 
cept in  the  treatment  of  decent  women. 

While  Dan  had  command  of  the  situation, 
Helen  had  command  of  Dan,  and  she  began 
to  talk.  The  captain  could  not  remember 
the  remarks — they  were  long  and  passionate 
— but  as  she  rambled  along  in  her  denuncia- 
tion, the  captain,  who  had  been  laughing 
quietly,  and  quizzically  admiring  the  scene, 
became  suddenly  aware  that  Dan  was  being 
more  highly  wrought  upon  than  the  hoboes. 

He  removed  his  cigar,  and  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "  Say,  Dan,  don't  shoot ;  it  won't  pay." 
80 


A    FAILURE    OF    JUSTICE 

"No?"  asked  Dan,  turning  his  cold,  wide- 
open  blue  eyes  on  the  captain. 

"  No ;  I  wouldn't  do  it  if  I  were  you  ;  you 
are  mad,  and  I  am  not,  and  you  had  better 
use  my  judgment." 

Dan  looked  at  the  hoboes,  then  at  the 
woman,  who  had  ceased  talking,  saying, 
"Will  I  shoot,  Helen?" 

"  No,  Dan,"  she  said,  simply. 

"  Well,  then,"  he  drawled,  as  he  sheathed 
his  weapons,  "  I  ain't  goin'  to  trifle  round  yer 
any  more.  Good -night,  Helen,"  and  he 
turned  out  into  the  darkness. 

"  Oh,  Dan  !"  called  the  woman. 

"What?" 

"  Promise  me  that  no  one  kills  these  boys 
when  they  go  out  of  my  place ;  promise  me, 
Dan,  you  will  see  to  it  that  no  one  kills  them. 
I  don't  want  'em  killed.  Promise  me,"  she 
pleaded  out  of  the  door. 

"  I'll  do  it,  Helen.  I'll  kill  the  first  man 
what  lays  a  hand  on  the  dog-gone  skunks," 
and  a  few  seconds  later  the  captain  heard 
Dan,  out  in  the  gloom,  mutter,  "  Well,  I'll  be 
d !" 

A  more  subdued  set  of  young  gentlemen 
Si 


A    FAILURE    OF   JUSTICE 

than  followed  Dan  over  to  the  railroad  had 
never  graced  Alkali  Flat. 

Dan  came  back  to  his  faro  game,  and,  sit- 
ting down,  shuffled  the  pack  and  meditatively 
put  it  in  the  box,  saying  to  the  case-keeper, 
"  When  a  squar'  woman  gets  in  a  game,  I 
don't  advise  any  bets." 

But  Alkali  Flat  saw  more  in  the  episode 
than  the  mere  miscarriage  of  justice;  the 
excitement  had  uncovered  the  fact  that  Dan 
Dundas  and  Helen  understood  each  other. 


SORROWS    OF     DON     TOMAS 
PIDAL,  RECONCENTRADO 


SORROWS    OF    DON    TOMAS 
PIDAL,  RECONCENTRADO 

I  WAS  driving  lately  with  the  great  Cuban 
"  war  special  "  Sylvester  Scovel  along  a 
sun-blazoned  road  in  the  Havana  province, 
outside  of  Marnion  ;  we  were  away  beyond 
the  patrols  of  the  Seventh  Corps.  The  na- 
tive soldiers  pattered  along  the  road  on  their 
rat-like  ponies.  To  them  Scovel  was  more 
than  a  friend  :  he  was  a  friend  of  the  great 
chief  Gomez,  and  that  is  more  than  enough 
for  a  Cuban. 

He  pointed  to  a  ditch  and  to  a  hill,  saying 
he  had  been  in  fights  in  those  places — back 
in  Maceo's  time ;  hot  little  skirmishes,  with 
no  chance  to  put  your  hat  on  your  sword. 
But  he  had  always  managed  to  get  away 
from  the  Spanish;  and  so  had  Maceo  —  all 
but  the  one  time. 

85 


SORROWS    OF    DON    PIDAL 

Beside  the  road  there  were  fine  old  man- 
sions— stuccoed  brick,  with  open  windows, 
and  with  the  roofs  fallen  in.  The  rank  tropic 
vegetation  was  fast  growing  up  around  them, 
even  now  choking  the  doorways  and  gravel 
walks.  And  the  people  who  lived  in  them  ? 
God  knows ! 

The  day  grew  into  noon.  We  were  hun- 
gry, and  the  ardent  sun  suggested  stopping 
at  a  village  which  we  were  passing  through. 
There  was  a  fonda,  so  we  got  down  from  our 
carriage,  and,  going  in,  sat  down  at  a  table  in 
a  little  side-room. 

One  is  careful  about  the  water  in  Cuba, 
and  by  no  chance  can  a  dirty  cook  get  his 
hands  on  a  boiled  egg.  We  ordered  coffee 
and  eggs.  A  rural  Cuban  fonda  is  very  close 
to  the  earth. 

Through  the  open  window  could  be  seen 
the  life  of  the  village — men  sitting  at  tables 
across  the  way,  drinking,  smoking,  and  laz- 
ing about.  It  was  Sunday.  Little  children 
came  to  the  window  and  opened  their  eyes 
at  us,  and  we  pitied  their  pale  anaemic  faces 
and  little  puffed  bellies,  for  that  terrible  or- 
der of  Weyler's  had  been  particularly  hard 
86 


SORROWS    OF    DON    PIDAL 

on  children.  There  were  men  hanging  about 
who  looked  equally  hollow,  but  very  few 
women. 

"  Reconcentrados — poor  devils,"  observed 
my  friend. 

This  harmless  peasantry  had  suffered  all 
that  people  could  suffer.  To  look  at  them 
and  to  think  of  them  was  absolutely  sadden- 
ing. Still,  the  mass  of  suffering  which  they 
represented  also  deadened  one's  sensibilities 
somewhat,  and  for  an  ordinary  man  to  put 
out  his  hand  in  help  seemed  a  thing  of  no 
importance. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  the  personal  ex- 
periences of  one  individual  of  this  fallen 
people,  Scovel.  I  can  rise  to  one  man,  but 
two  or  three  hundred  thousand  people  is  too 
big  for  me." 

"All  right/5  replied  the  alert  "special." 
"We  will  take  that  Spanish -looking  man 
over  there  by  the  cart.  He  has  been  starved, 
and  he  is  a  good  type  of  a  Cuban  peasant." 
By  the  arts  of  the  finished  interviewer,  Sco- 
vel soon  had  the  man  sitting  at  our  table, 
with  brandy -and -water  before  him.  The 
man's  eyes  were  like  live  coals,  which  is  the 
87 


SORROWS    OF    DON    PIDAL 

most  curious  manifestation  of  starvation. 
His  forehead  was  wrinkled,  the  eyebrows 
drawn  up  in  the  middle.  He  had  the  green- 
ish pallor  which  comes  when  the  blood  is 
thin  behind  a  dark,  coarse  skin.  He  did  not 
seem  afraid  of  us,  but  behind  the  listlessness 
of  a  low  physical  condition  there  was  the 
quick  occasional  movement  of  a  wild  animal. 

"  Reconcentrado  ?" 

"  Si,  seftor.  I  have  suffered  beyond  count- 
ing." 

"We  are  Americans*  we  sympathize  with 
you ;  tell  us  the  story  of  all  you  have  suf- 
fered. Your  name?  Oh  I  Don  Tomas  Pidal, 
will  you  talk  to  us?" 

"  It  will  be  nearly  three  rains  since  the 
King's  soldiers  burned  the  thatch  over  my 
head  and  the  cavalry  shoved  us  down  the 
road  like  the  beasts. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  I  shall  do.  I  may 
yet  die  —  it  is  a  small  affair.  Everything 
which  I  had  is  now  gone.  The  Americans 
have  come  to  us;  but  they  should  have  come 
long  before.  At  this  time  we  are  not  worth 
coming  to.  Nothing  is  left  but  the  land, 
and  that  the  Spaniards  could  not  kill.  Seftor, 


SORROWS    OF    DON    PIDAL 

they  of  a  surety  would  have  burnt  it,  but 
that  is  to  them  impossible." 

"Are  you  not  a  Spaniard  by  birth?" 
"  No ;  my  father  and  mother  came  from 
over  the  sea,  but  I  was  born  in  sight  of  this 
town.  I  have  always  lived  here,  and  I  have 
been  happy,  until  the  war  came.  We  did 
not  know  what  the  war  was  like.  We  used 
to  hear  of  it  years  ago,  but  it  was  far  to  the 
east.  The  war  never  came  to  Punta  Brava. 
We  thought  it  never  would ;  but  it  did 
come ;  and  now  you  cannot  see  a  thatch 
house  or  an  ox,  and  you  have  to  gaze  hard 
to  see  any  people  in  this  country  about 
here.  That  is  what  war  does,  sefior,  and  we 
people  here  did  not  want  war. 

"  Some  of  the  valiant  men  who  used  to 
dwell  around  Punta  Brava  took  their  guns 
and  the  machete  of  war,  and  they  ran  away 
into  the  manigua.  They  used  to  talk  in  the 
fonda  very  loud,  and  they  said  they  would 
not  leave  a  Spaniard  alive  on  the  island.  Of 
a  truth,  sefior,  many  of  those  bravos  have 
gone,  they  have  taken  many  Spaniards  with 
them  to  death,  and  between  them  both  the 
people  who  worked  in  the  fields  died  of  the 
89 


SORROWS    OF    DON    PIDAL 

hunger.  They  ate  the  oxen,  they  burned 
the  thatch,  and  the  fields  are  grown  up  with 
bushes.  There  is  not  a  dog  in  Punta  Brava 
to-day. 

"  When  the  bravos  ran  away,  the  King's 
soldiers  came  into  this  land  in  numbers  as 
great  as  the  flies.  This  village  sheltered 
many  of  them — many  of  the  battalion  San 
Quintin — and  that  is  why  the  houses  are  not 
flat  with  the  ground." 

"  Why  did  you  not  go  out  into  the  ma- 
nigua,  Don  Pidal?"  was  asked. 

*'  Oh,  senors,  I  am  not  brave.  I  never 
talked  loud  in  the  fonda.  Besides,  I  had  a 
wife  and  five  children.  I  lived  perfectly.  I 
had  a  good  house  of  the  palm.  I  had  ten 
cows  of  fine  milk  and  two  yokes  of  heavy 
work- oxen.  There  were  ten  pigs  on  my 
land,  and  two  hundred  chickens  laid  eggs 
for  me.  By  the  sale  of  these  and  my  fruit  I 
got  money.  When  I  killed  a  pig  to  sell  in 
Havana,  it  was  thirty  dollars.  When  I  did 
not  choose  to  sell,  we  had  lard  in  the  house 
for  a  month,  and  I  had  not  to  buy.  Two  of 
my  boys,  of  fourteen  and  sixteen  years,  aided 
me  in  my  work.  We  bred  the  beasts,  planted 
90 


SORROWS    OF    DON    PIDAL 

tobacco,  corn,  sweet-potatoes,  and  plantains, 
and  I  had  a  field  of  the  pineapples,  besides 
many  strong  mango -trees.  Could  a  man 
want  for  what  I  did  not  have?  We  ate  twice 
a  day,  and  even  three  times.  We  could  have 
eaten  all  day  if  we  had  so  desired. 

"Then,  sefior,  the  tax-gatherers  never  sus- 
pected that  I  had  fourteen  hundred  dollars 
in  silver  buried  under  the  floor  of  my  house. 
We  could  work  as  much  as  we  pleased,  or  as 
little ;  but  we  worked,  sefior — all  the  men 
you  see  sitting  about  Punta  Brava  to-day 
worked  before  the  war  came  ;  not  for  wages, 
but  for  the  shame  of  not  doing  so.  When 
the  yokes  were  taken  from  the  cattle  at  night 
and  the  fodder  was  thrown  to  them,  we  could 
divert  ourselves.  The  young  men  put  on 
their  '  guayaberas,'  *  threw  their  saddles  on 
their  *  caballitos,'  f  and  marched  to  the  girls, 
where  they  danced  and  sang  and  made  love. 
To  get  married  it  was  only  for  the  young 
man  to  have  seventy  dollars;  the  girl  had  to 
have  only  virtue.  There  was  also  to  go  to 
town  to  buy,  and  then  the  feast-days  and  the 

*  Fine  shirts.  t  Little  horses. 

91 


SORROWS    OF    DON    PIDAL 

Sunday  nights.  There  was  always  the  work 
— every  day  the  same,  except  in  the  time  of 
tobacco  ;  then  we  worked  into  the  night.  In 
the  house  the  women  washed,  they  cooked, 
they  looked  after  the  pigs  and  the  chickens, 
they  had  the  children,  and  in  the  time  of  the 
tobacco  they  also  went  forth  into  the  fields. 
"  It  was  easy  for  any  man  to  have  money,  if 
he  did  not  put  down  much  on  the  fighting- 
cocks.  The  church  cost  much;  there  was 
the  cura,  the  sacristan — many  things  to  pay 
away  the  money  for ;  but  even  if  the  goods 
from  Spain  did  cost  a  great  sum,  because 
the  officers  of  the  King  made  many  col- 
lections on  them,  even  if  the  taxes  on  the 
land  and  the  animals  were  heavy,  yet,  sefior, 
was  it  not  better  to  pay  all  than  to  have  the 
soldiers  come  ?  Ah  me,  amigo,  of  all  things 
the  worst  are  the  King's  soldiers.  It  was 
whispered  that  the  soldiers  of  your  people 
were  bad  men.  It  was  said  that  if  they  ever 
came  to  Punta  Brava  we  should  all  die;  but 
it  is  not  so.  Your  soldiers  do  not  live  in 
other  people's  houses.  They  are  all  by  them- 
selves in  tents  up  the  King's  road,  and  they 
leave  us  alone.  They  do  nothing  but  bring 
92 


SORROWS    OF    DON    PIDAL 

us  food  in  their  big  wagons.  They  lied  about 
your  soldiers.  It  was  the  talk  in  this  coun- 
try, seftor,  that  the  great  people  in  the  Free 
States  of  the  North  wanted  to  come  to  us 
and  drive  the  King's  soldiers  out  of  the 
country,  but  it  was  said  that  your  people 
quarrelled  among  themselves  about  coming. 
The  great  general  who  lived  in  Havana  was 
said  to  be  a  friend  to  all  of  us,  but  he  did 
not  have  the  blue  soldiers  then.  He  is  down 
the  King's  road  now — I  saw  him  the  other 
day — and  a  man  cannot  see  over  the  land  far 
enough  to  come  to  the  end  of  his  tents. 

"  If  they  had  been  there  one  day  the  King's 
soldiers  would  not  have  come  through  my 
land  and  cut  my  boy  to  pieces  in  my  own 
field.  They  did  that,  seftor  —  cut  him  with 
the  machetes  until  he  was  all  over  red,  and 
they  took  many  canastos  of  my  fruits  away. 
I  went  to  the  comandante  to  see  what  should 
be  done,  but  he  knew  nothing  about  it. 

"Then  shortly  a  column  of  troops  came 
marching  by  my  house,  and  the  officer  said 
by  word  of  mouth  that  we  must  all  go  to 
town,  so  that  there  would  be  none  but  rebels 
in  the  country.  They  burned  my  house  and 
93 


SORROWS    OF    DON    PIDAL 

drove  all  my  beasts  away — all  but  one  yoke 
of  oxen.  I  gathered  up  some  of  my  chick- 
ens and  what  little  I  could  find  about  the 
place  and  put  it  on  a  cart,  but  I  could  not 
get  my  money  from  the  burning  house,  be- 
cause they  drove  us  away.  This  was  the 
first  I  felt  of  war. 

"  I  thought  that  the  King  would  give  us 
food,  now  that  he  had  taken  us  from  our 
fields,  but  we  got  nothing  from  the  King's 
officers.  I  could  even  then  have  lived  on 
the  outside  of  the  town,  with  my  chickens 
and  what  I  could  have  raised,  but  it  was  only 
a  short  time  before  the  soldiers  of  the  bat- 
talion took  even  my  chickens,  and  they  made 
me  move  inside  of  a  wire  fence  which  ran 
from  one  stone  fort  to  another.  I  tried  to 
get  a  pass  to  go  outside  of  the  wire  fence, 
and  for  a  few  weeks  I  was  used  to  go  and 
gather  what  potatoes  I  could  find,  but  so 
many  men  were  cut  to  pieces  by  the  gueril- 
las as  they  were  coming  from  the  fields  that 
I  no  longer  dared  go  out  by  day. 

"  We  had  a  little  thatch  over  our  heads, 
but  it  did  not  keep  out  the  rain.  We  be- 
came weak  with  the  hunger.  We  lived  in 
94 


SORROWS    OF    DON    PiDAL 

sorrow  and  with  empty  bellies.  My  two 
young  children  soon  died,  and  about  me 
many  of  my  friends  were  dying  like  dogs. 
The  ox-cart  came  in  the  afternoon,  and  they 
threw  my  two  children  into  it  like  carrion. 
In  that  cart,  senor,  were  twenty-two  other 
dead  people.  It  was  terrible.  My  wife  never 
dried  her  tears  after  that.  If  I  had  five  dol- 
lars I  could  have  gotten  a  box,  but  I  did  not 
have  it.  The  priest  would  not  go  for  less 
than  double  the  price  of  the  box,  which  is 
the  custom.  So  my  two  little  ones  went  to 
Guatoco  on  an  ox- cart  loaded,  with  dead  like 
garbage  —  which  the  Spanish  comandante 
said  we  were. 

"  Now  came  the  hard  days,  sefior.  Not 
even  a  dog  could  pick  up  enough  in  Purita 
Brava  to  keep  life  in  his  ribs.  My  people 
lay  on  the  floor  of  our  thatch  hut,  and  they 
had  not  the  strength  to  warm  water  in  the 
kettle.  My  other  child  died,  and  again  the 
ox-cart  came.  My  oldest  boy  said  he  was 
going  away  and  would  not  return.  He  got 
through  the  wire  fence  in  the  dark  of  the 
night,  and  I  went  with  him.  We  got  a 
small  bunch  of  bananas,  and  in  the  black 
95 


SORROWS    OF    DON    PIDAL 

night  out  there  in  the  manigua  we  embraced 
each  other,  and  he  went  away  into  the  coun- 
try. I  have  not  seen  him  since ;  I  no  longer 
look  for  him. 

"  Only  the  strongest  could  live,  but  I  had 
hopes  that  by  going  through  the  fence  every 
few  nights  I  could  keep  my  wife  alive.  This 
I  did  many  times,  and  came  back  safely  ;  but 
I  was  as  careful  as  a  cat,  seftor,  as  I  crawled 
through  the  grass,  for  if  a  soldier  had  shot 
me,  my  wife  would  then  have  but  to  die.  It 
was  hard  work  to  gather  the  fruit  and  nuts 
in  the  night,  and  I  could  not  get  at  all  times 
enough.  My  wife  grew  weaker,  and  I  began 
to  despair  of  saving  her.  One  night  I  stole 
some  food  in  a  soldier's  kettle  from  near  a 
mess  fire,  and  the  men  of  the  battalion  fired 
many  shots  at  me,  but  without  doing  me  in- 
jury. Once  a  Spanish  guerilla,  whom  I  had 
known  before  the  war  came,  gave  me  a  piece 
of  fresh  beef,  which  I  fed  to  my  wife.  I 
thought  to  save  her  with  the  beef,  but  she 
died  that  night  in  agony.  There  was  no 
flesh  on  her  bones. 

"  Then  I  ran  away  through  the  wire  fence. 
I  could  not  see  my  wife  thrown  on  the  dead- 
96 


THE  MEN  OF  THE   BATTALION  FIRED  MANY  SHOTS  AT  ME*  " 


SORROWS    OF    DON    PIDAL 

wagon,  and  I  never  came  back  until  a  few 
days  since.  I  did  not  care  if  the  guerillas 
found  me.  I  made  my  way  into  Havana, 
and  I  got  bread  from  the  doorways  at  times, 
enough  to  keep  me  alive.  There  was  a  little 
work  for  wages  along  the  docks,  but  I  was 
not  strong  to  do  much.  One  night  I  looked 
between  iron  bars  at  some  people  of  your 
language,  seftor.  They  were  sitting  at  a 
table  which  was  covered  with  food,  and 
when  they  saw  me  they  gave  me  much 
bread,  thrusting  it  out  between  the  bars.  A 
Spaniard  would  not  do  that. 

"I  was  not  born  in  a  town,  and  when  the 
King's  soldiers  sailed  away  I  came  back  here 
to  my  own  country.  I  did  not  like  to  live 
in  Havana. 

"  But  now  I  do  not  care  to  live  here.  I  do 
not  see,  sefior,  why  people  who  do  not  want 
war  should  have  it.  I  would  have  paid  my 
taxes.  I  did  not  care  if  the  goods  from  Spain 
cost  much.  There  was  to  get  along  without 
them  if  they  were  beyond  price.  It  was  said 
by  the  soldiers  that  we  peasants  out  in  the 
fields  told  the  men  of  the  manigua  what  the 
battalion  San  Quintin  were  doing.  Sefior, 
97 


SORROWS    OF    DON    PIDAL 

the  battalion  San  Quintin  did  nothing  but 
eat  and  sleep  in  Punta  Brava.  The  guerillas 
roamed  about,  but  I  never  knew  whence  they 
roamed. 

"The  men  of  the  manigua  took  my  pota- 
toes and  my  plantains,  but,  with  their  guns 
and  machetes,  could  I  make  them  not  to 
take  them?  Was  it  my  fault  if  fifty  armed 
men  did  what  pleased  them  ? 

"  Seiior,  why  did  not  the  blue  soldiers  of 
your  language  come  to  us  before  we  died?" 

This  we  were  not  able  to  answer. 


WHEN   A   DOCUMENT   IS 
OFFICIAL 


WHEN   A   DOCUMENT   IS 
OFFICIAL 

WILLIAM  or  "Billy"  Burling  had  for 
these  last  four  years  worn  three  yel- 
low stripes  on  his  coat-sleeve  with  credit  to 
the  insignia.  Leading  up  to  this  distinction 
were  two  years  when  he  had  only  worn  two, 
and  back  of  that  were  yet  other  annums 
when  his  blue  blouse  had  been  severely 
plain  except  for  five  brass  buttons  down 
the  front.  This  matter  was  of  no  conse- 
quence in  all  the  world  to  any  one  except 
Burling,  but  the  nine  freezing,  grilling,  fam- 
ishing years  which  he  had  so  successfully 
contributed  to  the  cavalry  service  of  the 
United  States  were  the  "clean-up"  of  his 
assets.  He  had  gained  distinction  in  several 
pounding  finishes  with  the  Indians;  he  was 
liked  in  barracks  and  respected  on  the  line ; 
101 


WHEN  A  DOCUMENT  IS  OFFICIAL 

and  he  had  wrestled  so  sturdily  with  the 
books  that  when  his  name  came  up  for  pro- 
motion to  an  officer's  commission  he  had 
passed  the  examinations.  On  the  very  morn- 
ing of  which  I  speak,  a  lieutenant  of  his  com- 
pany had  quietly  said  to  him:  "  You  need 
not  say  anything  about  it,  but  I  heard  this 
morning  that  your  commission  had  been 
signed  and  is  now  on  the  way  from  Wash- 
ington. I  want  to  congratulate  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  William  Burling,  as 
the  officer  passed  on.  The  sergeant  sat  down 
on  his  bunk  and  said,  mentally,  "  It  was  a 
damn  long  time  coming." 

There  is  nothing  so  strong  in  human  nat- 
ure as  the  observance  of  custom,  especially 
when  all  humanity  practises  it,  and  the  best 
men  in  America  and  Europe,  living  or  dead, 
have  approved  of  this  one.  It  has,  in  cases 
like  the  sergeant's,  been  called  "  wetting  a 
new  commission."  I  suppose  in  Moham- 
medan Asia  they  buy  a  new  wife.  Some- 
thing outrageous  must  be  done  when  a  mil- 
itary man  celebrates  his  "step" ;  but  be  that 
as  it  may,  William  Burling  was  oppressed  by 
a  desire  to  blow  off  steam.  Here  is  where 

102 


WHEN  A  DOCUMENT  IS   OFFICIAL 

the  four  years  of  the  three  stripes  stood  by 
this  hesitating  mortal  and  overpowered  the 
exposed  human  nature.  Discipline  had  near- 
ly throttled  custom,  and  before  this  last  could 
catch  its  breath  again  the  orderly  came  in  to 
tell  Burling  that  the  colonel  wanted  him  up 
at  headquarters. 

It  was  early  winter  at  Fort  Adobe,  and  the 
lonely  plains  were  white  with  a  new  snow.  It 
certainly  looked  lonely  enough  out  beyond 
the  last  buildings,  but  in  those  days  one 
could  not  trust  the  plains  to  be  as  lonely  as 
they  looked.  Mr.  Sitting-Bull  or  Mr.  Crazy- 
Horse  might  pop  out  of  any  coulee  with  a 
goodly  following,  and  then  life  would  not  be 
worth  living  for  a  wayfarer.  Some  of  these 
high-flavored  romanticists  had  but  lately  re- 
moved the  hair  from  sundry  buffalo-hunters 
in  Adobe's  vicinity,  and  troops  were  out  in 
the  field  trying  to  "kill,  capture,  or  destroy" 
them,  according  to  the  ancient  and  honor- 
able form.  All  this  was  well  known  to  Ser- 
geant Burling  when  he  stiffened  up  before 
the  colonel. 

"  Sergeant,  all  my  scouts  are  out  with  the 
commands,  and  I  am  short  of  officers  in  post. 
103 


WHEN  A  DOCUMENT   IS   OFFICIAL 

I  have  an  order  here  for  Captain  Morestead, 
whom  I  suppose  to  be  at  the  juncture  of  Old 
Woman's  Fork  and  Lightning  Creek,  and  I 
want  you  to  deliver  it.  You  can  easily  find 
their  trail.  The  order  is  important,  and  must 
go  through.  How  many  men  do  you  want?" 

Burling  had  not  put  in  nine  years  on  the 
plains  without  knowing  a  scout's  answer  to 
that  question.  "  Colonel,  I  prefer  to  go 
alone."  There  was  yet  another  reason  than 
"  he  travels  the  fastest  who  travels  alone"  in 
Burling's  mind.  He  knew  it  would  be  a  very 
desirable  thing  if  he  could  take  that  new  com- 
mission into  the  officers'  mess  with  the  pres- 
tige of  soldierly  devotion  upon  it.  Then,  too, 
nothing  short  of  twenty-five  men  could  hope 
to  stand  off  a  band  of  Indians. 

Burling  had  flipped  a  mental  coin'.  It  came 
down  heads  for  him,  for  the  colonel  said : 
"All  right,  sergeant.  Dress  warm  and  travel 
nights.  There  is  a  moon.  Destroy  that  or- 
der if  you  have  bad  luck.  Understand?" 

"Very  well,  sir,"  and  he  took  the  order 
from  the  colonel's  hand. 

The  old  man  noticed  the  figure  of  the  young 
cavalryman,  and  felt  proud  to  command  such 
104 


WHEN  A  DOCUMENT   IS   OFFICIAL 

a  man.  He  knew  Burling  was  an  officer,  and 
he  thought  he  knew  that  Burling  did  not 
know  it.  He  did  not  like  to  send  him  out 
in  such  weather  through  such  a  country,  but 
needs  must. 

As  a  man  Burling  was  at  the  ripe  age  of 
thirty,  which  is  the  middle  distance  of  use- 
fulness for  one  who  rides  a  government 
horse.  He  was  a  light  man,  trim  in  his  fig- 
ure, quiet  in  manner,  serious  in  mind.  His 
nose,  eyes,  and  mouth  denoted  strong  char- 
acter, and  also  that  there  had  been  little 
laughter  in  his  life.  He  had  a  mustache, 
and  beyond  this  nothing  can  be  said,  because 
cavalrymen  are  primitive  men,  weighing  no 
more  than  one  hundred  and  sixty  pounds. 
The  horse  is  responsible  for  this,  because  he 
cannot  carry  more,  and  that  weight  even  then 
must  be  pretty  much  on  the  same  ancient 
lines.  You  never  see  long,  short,  or  odd 
curves  on  top  of  a  cavalry  horse — not  with 
nine  years  of  field  service. 

Marching  down  to  the  stables,  he  gave  his 

good  bay  horse  quite  as  many  oats  as  were 

good  for  him.     Then  going  to  his  quarters, 

he  dressed  himself  warmly  in  buffalo  coat, 

105 


WHEN  A  DOCUMENT   IS   OFFICIAL 

buffalo  moccasins,  fur  cap  and  gloves,  and  he 
made  one  saddle-pocket  bulge  with  coffee, 
sugar,  crackers,  and  bacon,  intending  to  fill 
the  opposite  side  with  grain  for  his  horse. 
Borrowing  an  extra  six-shooter  from  Ser- 
geant McAvoy,  he  returned  to  the  stables 
and  saddled  up.  He  felt  all  over  his  person 
for  a  place  to  put  the  precious  order,  but  the 
regulations  are  dead  set  against  pockets  in 
soldiers'  clothes.  He  concluded  that  the 
upper  side  of  the  saddle  -  bags,  where  the 
extra  horseshoes  go,  was  a  fit  place.  Strap- 
ping it  down,  he  mounted,  waved  his  hand 
at  the  fellow-soldiers,  and  trotted  off  up  the 
road. 

It  was  getting  towards  evening,  there  was 
a  fine  brisk  air,  and  his  horse  was  going 
strong  and  free.  There  was  no  danger  until 
he  passed  the  Frenchman's  ranch  where  the 
buffalo-hunters  lived  ;  and  he  had  timed  to 
leave  there  after  dark  and  be  well  out  be- 
fore the  moon  should  discover  him  to  any 
Indians  who  might  be  viewing  that  log 
house  with  little  schemes  of  murder  in  ex- 
pectance. 

He  got  there  in  the  failing  light,  and  tying 
106 


WHEN  A  DOCUMENT   IS   OFFICIAL 

his  horse  to  the  rail  in  front  of  the  long  log 
house,  he  entered  the  big  room  where  the 
buffalo-hunters  ate,  drank,  and  exchanged 
the  results  of  their  hard  labor  with  each 
other  as  the  pasteboards  should  indicate. 
There  were  about  fifteen  men  in  the  room, 
some  inviting  the  bar,  but  mostly  at  various 
tables  guessing  at  cards.  The  room  was  hot, 
full  of  tobacco  smoke  and  many  democratic 
smells,  while  the  voices  of  the  men  were  as 
hard  as  the  pounding  of  two  boards  together. 
What  they  said,  for  the  most  part,  can  never 
be  put  in  your  library,  neither  would  it  inter- 
est if  it  was.  Men  with  the  bark  on  do  not 
say  things  in  their  lighter  moods  which  go 
for  much ;  but  when  these  were  behind  a 
sage-bush  handling  a  Sharps,  or  skimming 
among  the  tailing  buffaloes  on  a  strong  pony, 
what  grunts  were  got  out  of  them  had  mean- 
ing! 

Buffalo-hunters  were  men  of  iron  endeavor 
for  gain.  They  were  adventurers  ;  they  were 
not  nice.  Three  buckets  of  blood  was  four 
dollars  to  them.  They  had  thews,  strong- 
smelling  bodies,  and  eager  minds.  Life  was 
red  on  the  buffalo-range  in  its  day.  There 
i  107 


WHEN  A  DOCUMENT    IS    OFFICIAL 

was  an  intellectual  life — a  scientific  turn- 
but  it  related  to  flying  lead,  wolfish  knowl- 
edge of  animals,  and  methods  of  hide-strip- 
ping. 

The  sergeant  knew  many  of  them,  and  was 
greeted  accordingly.  He  was  feeling  well. 
The  new  commission,  the  dangerous  errand, 
the  fine  air,  and  the  ride  had  set  his  blood 
bounding  through  a  healthy  frame.  A  young 
man  with  an  increased  heart  action  is  going 
to  do  something  besides  standing  on  one  foot 
leaning  against  a  wall :  nature  arranged  that 
long  ago. 

Without  saying  what  he  meant,  which  was 
"  let  us  wet  the  new  commission,"  he  sang 
out :  "  Have  a  drink  on  the  army.  Kem  up, 
all  you  hide-jerkers,"  and  they  rallied  around 
the  young  soldier  and  "  wet."  He  talked 
with  them  a  few  minutes,  and  then  stepped 
out  into  the  air — partly  to  look  at  his  horse, 
and  partly  to  escape  the  encores  which  were 
sure  to  follow.  The  horse  stood  quietly. 
Instinctively  he  started  to  unbuckle  the  sad- 
dle-pocket. He  wanted  to  see  how  the 
"  official  document"  was  riding,  that  being 
the  only  thing  that  oppressed  Burling's  mind. 
108 


WHEN  A  DOCUMENT    IS    OFFICIAL 

But  the  pocket  was  unbuckled,  and  a  glance 
showed  that  the  paper  was  gone. 

His  bowels  were  in  tremolo.  His  heart 
lost  three  beats ;  and  then,  as  though  to  ad- 
just matters,  it  sent  a  gust  of  blood  into  his 
head.  He  pawed  at  his  saddle-bags  ;  he  un- 
buttoned his  coat  and  searched  with  nervous 
fingers  everywhere  through  his  clothes ;  and 
then  he  stood  still,  looking  with  fixed  eyes 
at  the  nigh  front  foot  of  the  cavalry  horse. 
He  did  not  stand  mooning  long;  but  he 
thought  through  those  nine  years,  every  day 
of  them,  every  minute  of  them ;  he  thought 
of  the  disgrace  both  at  home  and  in  the 
army ;  he  thought  of  the  lost  commission, 
which  would  only  go  back  the  same  route  it 
came.  He  took  off  his  overcoat  and  threw  it 
across  the  saddle.  He  untied  his  horse  and 
threw  the  loose  rein  over  a  post.  He  tugged 
at  a  big  sheath-knife  until  it  came  from  the 
back  side  of  his  belt  to  the  front  side,  then 
he  drew  two  big  army  revolvers  and  looked 
at  the  cylinders — they  were  full  of  gray  lead. 
He  cocked  both,  laid  them  across  his  left 
arm,  and  stepped  quickly  to  the  door  of  the 
Frenchman's  log  house.  As  he  backed  into 
109 


WHEN  A  DOCUMENT  IS   OFFICIAL 

the  room  he  turned  the  key  in  the  lock  and 
put  it  under  his  belt.  Raising  the  revolvers 
breast-high  in  front  of  him,  he  shouted, 
"  Attention  !"  after  the  loud,  harsh  habit  of 
the  army.  An  officer  might  talk  to  a  bat- 
talion on  parade  that  way. 

No  one  had  paid  any  attention  to  him 
as  he  entered.  They  had  not  noticed  him, 
in  the  preoccupation  of  the  room,  but  ev- 
ery one  quickly  turned  at  the  strange 
word. 

"  Throw  up  your  hands  instantly,  every 
man  in  the  room !"  and  with  added  vigor, 
"Don't  move!" 

Slowly,  in  a  surprised  way,  each  man  be- 
gan to  elevate  his  hands — some  more  slowly 
than  others.  In  settled  communities  this 
order  would  make  men  act  like  a  covey  of 
quail,  but  at  that  time  at  Fort  Adobe  the 
six-shooter  was  understood  both  in  theory 
and  in  practice. 

"You  there,  bartender,  be  quick!  I'm 
watching  you."  And  the  bartender  exalted 
his  hands  like  a  practised  saint. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  began  the  soldier, 
"  the  first  man  that  bats  an  eye  or  twitches 
no 


WHEN  A   DOCUMENT   IS   OFFICIAL 

a  finger  or  moves  a  boot  in  this  room  will 
get  shot  just  that  second.  Sabe  ?" 

"  What's  the  matter,  Mr.  Soldier  ?  Be  you 
loco  f  "  sang  out  one. 

"  No,  I  am  not  loco.  I'll  tell  you  why  I 
am  not."  Turning  one  gun  slightly  to  the 
left,  he  went  on  :  "  You  fellow  with  the  long 
red  hair  over  there,  you  sit  still  if  you  are 
not  hunting  for  what's  in  this  gun.  I  rode 
up  to  this  shack,  tied  my  horse  outside  the 
door,  came  in  here,  and  bought  the  drinks. 
While  I  was  in  here  some  one  stepped  out 
and  stole  a  paper — official  document — from 
my  saddle-pockets,  and  unless  that  paper  is 
returned  to  me,  I  am  going  to  turn  both  of 
these  guns  loose  on  this  crowd.  I  know  you 
will  kill  me,  but  unless  I  get  the  paper  I  want 
to  be  killed.  So,  gentlemen,  you  keep  your 
hands  up.  You  can  talk  it  over ;  but  re- 
member, if  that  paper  is  not  handed  me  in 
a  few  minutes,  I  shall  begin  to  shoot."  Thus 
having  delivered  himself,  the  sergeant  stood 
by  the  door  with  his  guns  levelled.  A  hum 
of  voices  filled  the  room. 

"The  soldier  is  right,"  said  some  one. 

"Don't  point  that  gun  at  me ;  I  hain't 
in 


WHEN   A   DOCUMENT    IS   OFFICIAL 

got  any  paper,  pardner.  I  can't  even  read 
paper,  pard.  Take  it  off;  you  might  git 
narvous." 

"  That  sojer's  out  fer  blood.  Don't  hold 
his  paper  out  on  him." 

"  Yes,  give  him  the  paper,"  answered  oth- 
ers. "  The  man  what  took  that  paper  wants 
to  fork  it  over.  This  soldier  means  business. 
Be  quick." 

"  Who's  got  the  paper?"  sang  a  dozen 
voices.  The  bartender  expostulated  with 
the  determined  man — argued  a  mistake — 
but  from  the  compressed  lips  of  desperation 
came  the  word  "  Remember  !" 

From  a  near  table  a  big  man  with  a  gray 
beard  said;  " Sergeant,  I  am  going  to  stand 
up  and  make  a  speech.  Don't  shoot.  I  am 
with  you."  And  he  rose  quietly,  keeping 
an  inquisitive  eye  on  the  Burling  guns,  and 
began  : 

"  This  soldier  is  going  to  kill  a  bunch  of 
people  here  ;  any  one  can  see  that.  That 
paper  ain't  of  no  account.  Whatever  did 
any  fool  want  to  steal  it  for?  I  have  been 
a  soldier  myself,  and  I  know  what  an  officer's 
paper  means  to  a  despatch-bearer.  Now, 
112 


WHEN  A  DOCUMENT   IS   OFFICIAL 

men,  I  say,  after  we  get  through  with  this 
mess,  what  men  is  alive  ought  to  take  the 
doggone  paper-thief,  stake  the  feller  out,  and 
build  a  slow  fire  on  him,  if  he  can  be  ridden 
down.  If  the  man  what  took  the  paper  will 
hand  it  up,  we  all  agree  not  to  do  anything 
about  it.  Is  that  agreed?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  that's  agreed,"  sang  the  chorus. 

"  Say,  boss,  can't  I  put  my  arms  down  ?" 
asked  a  man  who  had  become  weary. 

"  If  you  do,  it  will  be  forever,"  came  the 
simple  reply. 

Said  one  man,  who  had  assembled  his 
logistics  :  "  There  was  some  stompin'  around 
yar  after  we  had  that  drink  on  the  sojer. 
Whoever  went  out  that  door  is  the  feller 
what  got  yer  document ;  and  ef  he'd  a-took- 
en  yer  horse,  I  wouldn't  think  much — I'd  be 
lookin'  fer  that  play,  stranger.  But  to  go 
ctncha  a  piece  of  paper !  Well,  I  think  you 
must  be  plumb  loco  to  shoot  up  a  lot  of  men 
like  we  be  fer  that  yar." 

"  Say,"  remarked  a  natural  observer — one 

of  those  minds  which  would  in  other  places 

have  been  a  head  waiter  or  some  other  highly 

sensitive  plant — "  I  reckon  that  Injun  over 

113 


WHEN   A  DOCUMENT   IS   OFFICIAL 

thar  went  out  of  this  room.     I  seen  him  go 
out." 

A  little  French  half-breed  on  Burling's 
right  said, "  Maybe  as  you  keel  de  man  what 
'ave  'and  you  de  papier — hey?" 

"  No,  on  my  word  I  will  not,"  was  the 
promise,  and  with  that  the  half-breed  con- 
tinued :  "  Well,  de  papier  ees  een  ma  pocket. 
Don't  shoot." 

The  sergeant  walked  over  to  the  abomina- 
tion of  a  man,  and  putting  one  pistol  to  his 
left  ear,  said,  "  Give  it  up  to  me  with  one  fist 
only — mind,  now !"  But  the  half-breed  had 
no  need  to  be  admonished,  and  he  handed 
the  paper  to  Burling,  who  gathered  it  into 
the  grip  of  his  pistol  hand,  crushing  it  against 
the  butt. 

Sidling  to  the  door,  the  soldier  said,  "  Now 
I  am  going  out,  and  I  will  shoot  any  one  who 
follows  me."  He  returned  one  gun  to  its 
holster,  and  while  covering  the  crowd,  fum- 
bled for  the  key-hole,  which  he  found.  He 
backed  out  into  the  night,  keeping  one  gun 
at  the  crack  of  the  door  until  the  last,  when 
with  a  quick  spring  he  dodged  to  the  right, 
slamming  the  door. 

114 


WHEN  A  DOCUMENT   IS    OFFICIAL 

The  room  was  filled  with  a  thunderous 
roar,  and  a  dozen  balls  crashed  through  the 
door. 

He  untied  his  horse,  mounted  quickly  with 
the  overcoat  underneath  him,  and  galloped 
away.  The  hoof-beats  reassured  the  buffalo- 
hunters;  they  ran  outside  and  blazed  and 
popped  away  at  the  fast-receding  horseman, 
but  to  no  purpose.  Then  there  was  a  scurry- 
ing for  ponies,  and  a  pursuit  was  instituted, 
but  the  grain-fed  cavalry  horse  was  soon  lost 
in  the  darkness.  And  this  was  the  real  end 
of  Sergeant  William  Burling. 

The  buffalo-hunters  followed  the  trail  next 
day.  All  night  long  galloped  and  trotted 
the  trooper  over  the  crunching  snow,  and 
there  was  no  sound  except  when  the  moon- 
stricken  wolves  barked  at  his  horse  from  the 
gray  distance. 

The  sergeant  thought  of  the  recent  occur- 
rence. The  reaction  weakened  him.  His  face 
flushed  with  disgrace;  but  he  knew  the  com- 
mission was  safe,  and  did  not  worry  about  the 
vengeance  of  the  buffalo-hunters,  which  was 
sure  to  come. 

At  daylight  he  rested  in  a  thick  timbered 
"5 


WHEN  A  DOCUMP:NT  is  OFFICIAL 

bottom,  near  a  cut  bank,  which  in  plains  strat- 
egy was  a  proper  place  to  make  a  fight.  He 
fed  himself  and  his  horse,  and  tried  to 
straighten  and  smooth  the  crumpled  order 
on  his  knee,  and  wondered  if  the  people  at 
Adobe  would  hear  of  the  unfortunate  occur- 
rence. His  mind  troubled  him  as  he  sat  gaz- 
ing at  the  official  envelope  ;  he  was  in  a  brown 
study.  He  could  not  get  the  little  sleep  he 
needed,  even  after  three  hours'  halt.  Being 
thus  preoccupied,  he  did  not  notice  that  his 
picketed  horse  from  time  to  time  raised  his 
head  and  pricked  his  ears  towards  his  back 
track.  But  finally,  with  a  start  and  a  loud 
snort,  the  horse  stood  eagerly  watching  the 
bushes  across  the  little  opening  through 
which  he  had  come. 

Burling  got  on  his  feet,  and  untying  his 
lariat,  led  his  horse  directly  under  the  cut 
bank  in  some  thick  brush.  As  he  was  in  the 
act  of  crawling  up  the  bank  to  have  a  look 
at  the  flat  plains  beyond,  a  couple  of  rifles 
cracked  and  a  ball  passed  through  the  soldier's 
hips.  He  dropped  and  rolled  down  the  bank, 
and  then  dragged  himself  into  the  brush. 

From  all  sides  apparently  came  Indians' 
116 


WHEN  A  DOCUMENT   IS   OFFICIAL 

"Ki-yis"  and  "  coyote  yelps."  The  cavalry 
horse  trembled  and  stood  snorting,  but  did 
not  know  which  way  to  run.  A  great  silence 
settled  over  the  snow,  lasting  for  minutes. 
The  Sioux  crawled  closer,  and  presently  saw 
a  bright  little  flare  of  fire  from  the  courier's 
position,  and  they  poured  in  their  bullets,  and 
again  there  was  quiet.  This  the  buffalo- 
hunters  knew  later  by  the  "  sign  "  on  the 
trail.  To  an  old  hunter  there  is  no  book  so 
plain  to  read  as  footprints  in  the  snow. 

And  long  afterwards,  in  telling  about  it,  an 
old  Indian  declared  to  me  that  when  they 
reached  the  dead  body  they  found  the  ashes 
of  some  paper  which  the  soldier  had  burned, 
and  which  had  revealed  his  position.  "  Was 
it  his  medicine  which  had  gone  back  on 
him?" 

"  No,"  I  explained,  "  it  wasn'  t  his  medi- 
cine, but  the  great  medicine  of  the  white  man, 
which  bothered  the  soldier  so." 

"  Hump  !  The  great  Washington  medi- 
cine maybeso.  It  make  dam  fool  of  soldiers 
lots  of  time  I  know  'bout,"  concluded  "  Bear- 
in-the-Night,"  as  he  hitched  up  his  blanket 
around  his  waist. 

-  117 


THE   WHITE   FOREST 


THE   WHITE   FOREST 

FROM  the  mid-winter  mist  and  mush  of 
New  York  it  was  a  transformation  to  us 
standing  there  in  the  smoking-room  of  the 
Chateau  Frontenac  at  Quebec,  looking  down 
across  the  grand  reaches  of  the  St.  Lawrence, 
where  the  ice  ran  in  crashing  fields  through 
the  streaming  water  of  the  flood-tide.  It  was 
a  cheerful  view  from  a  cheerful  place,  though 
the  frost  was  on  the  pane,  and  the  wood-work 
popped  with  the  cold.  Down  in  the  street 
the  little  Canadian  horses,  drawing  their  loads, 
were  white  with  rime,  while  their  irrepressible 
French  drivers  yelled  at  each  other  until  we 
could  hear  them  through  the  double  windows. 
There  is  energy  in  this  fierce  Northern  air. 

"  Why  Florida  in  winter?     Why  not  Que- 
bec ?"  said  the  old  Yale  stroke. 

"Yes,  why   not?"    reiterated   the   Essex 
trooper. 

121 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

But  the  cosiness  of  the  chateau  did  not 
suggest  the  seriousness  of  our  purpose.  We 
wanted  to  get  out  on  the  snow — to  get  in  the 
snow  —  to  tempt  its  moods  and  feel  its  im- 
pulses. We  wanted  to  feel  the  nip  of  that 
keen  outside  air,  to  challenge  a  contest  with 
our  woollens,  and  to  appropriate  some  of  its 
energy.  Accordingly  we  consulted  a  wise 
mind  who  sold  snow-shoes,  blankets,  moc- 
casins, and  socks,  and  he  did  a  good  business. 

"Shall  we  dress  at  St.  Raymond  or  in  the 
chateau  ?"  said  my  companion,  mindful  of  the 
severity  of  convention  in  New  York,  as  he 
gazed  on  the  litter  of  his  new  garments  spread 
out  on  the  floor  of  our  room. 

"  We  will  dress  here,  and  leave  so  early 
that  Quebec  will  not  be  out  of  bed  until  we 
are  away ;  but  if  Quebec  were  awake  and  on 
the  streets,  Quebec  would  not  turn  its  head 
to  honor  our  strangeness  with  a  glance,  be- 
cause it  would  see  nothing  new  in  us;"  and 
dress  we  did.  We  only  put  on  three  pairs 
of  socks  and  one  pair  of  flannel-lined  moc- 
casins, but  we  were  taught  later  to  put  on 
all  we  had.  As  the  rich  man  said  to  the  re- 
porter, when  trying  to  explain  the  magnitude 

122 


THE   OLD   YALE   STROKE 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

of  his  coming  ball,  "  There  will  be  ten  thou- 
sand dollars'  worth  of  ice-cream,"  so  I  say  to 
you  we  had  forty  dollars'  worth  of  yarn  socks. 

We  had  bags  of  blankets,  hunks  of  fresh 
beef  and  pork,  which  had  to  be  thawed  for 
hours  before  cooking,  and  potatoes  in  a  gunny 
sack,  which  rattled  like  billiard-balls,  so  hard 
were  they  frozen.  We  found  great  amusement 
on  the  train  by  rattling  the  bag  of  potatoes, 
for  they  were  the  hardest,  the  most  dense 
things  known  to  science. 

The  French  drivers  of  the  burleaus  who 
deposited  us  at  the  train  took  a  cheery  in- 
terest in  our  affairs;  they  lashed  the  horses, 
yelled  like  fiends,  made  the  snow  fly  around 
the  corners,  nearly  ran  down  an  early  police- 
man, and  made  us  happy  with  the  animation. 
They  are  rough  children,  amazingly  polite — 
a  product  of  paternalism  —  and  comfortable 
folks  to  have  around,  only  you  must  be  care- 
ful not  to  let  them  succeed  in  their  childish 
endeavor  to  drive  their  horses  over  you. 
Anyway,  they  cheered  us  off  through  the 
softly  falling  snow  of  that  early  winter  morn- 
ing, and  made  us  feel  less  like  strangers. 

At  St.  Raymond  were  the  guides  and  little 
123 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

one-horse  burleaus  all  ready  for  the  trip  to 
the  "  bush,"  or  at  least  for  the  fifteen  miles, 
which  was  as  far  as  sleighs  could  go,  up  to  old 
man  O'Shannahan's,  which  is  the  first  camp 
of  the  club.  There  were  nearly  four  feet  of 
snow  on  the  ground,  so  that  the  regular  road 
between  the  fences  was  drifted  full,  compel- 
ling the  habitants  to  mark  out  another  way 
with  evergreen  trees  through  their  fields. 

Far  apart  over  the  white  landscape  are  set 
the  little  French  cottages,  with  their  curved 
roofs.  They  are  so  cosily  lonely,  and  the 
rough  hills  go  up  from  the  valley  to  further 
isolate  them.  Coming  along  the  road  we  met 
the  low  hauling-sleds  of  the  natives,  who  ran 
their  horses  off  the  road  into  the  snow  half- 
way up  their  horses'  sides ;  but  the  sledges 
were  flat,  and  floated,  as  it  were.  Picturesque 
fellows,  with  tuques,  red  sashes,  and  fur  coats, 
with  bronzed  faces,  and  whiskers  worn  under 
their  chin,  after  the  fashion  of  the  early  thir- 
ties. The  Quebec  habitants  don't  bother  their 
heads  about  the  new  things,  which  is  the  great 
reason  why  they  are  the  most  contented  peo- 
ple in  America. 

The  faithful  watch-dog  barked  at  us  from 
124 


"THE   SERIOUSNESS   OF   FOUR   FEET   OF    SNOW " 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

every  cottage,  and,  after  the  manner  of  all 
honest  house-dogs,  charged  us,  with  skinned 
lips  and  gleaming  eye.  We  waited  until  they 
came  near  to  the  low -set  burleau,  when  we 
menaced  them  with  the  whip,  whereat  they 
sprang  from  the  hard  road  into  the  soft  snow, 
going  out  of  sight  in  it,  where  their  flounder- 
ing made  us  laugh  loud  and  long.  Dogs  do 
not  like  to  be  laughed  at,  and  it  is  so  seldom 
one  gets  even  with  the  way-side  pup. 

At  O'Shannahan's  we  were  put  up  in  the 
little  club  cabin  and  made  comfortable.  I 
liked  everything  in  the  country  except  the 
rough  look  of  the  hills,  knowing,  as  I  do,  that 
all  the  game  in  America  has  in  these  latter 
days  been  forced  into  them,  and  realizing  that 
to  follow  it  the  hunter  must  elevate  himself 
over  the  highest  tops,  which  process  never 
became  mixed  in  my  mind  with  the  poetry 
of  mountain  scenery. 

We  essayed  the  snow-shoes — an  art  neg- 
lected by  us  three  people  since  our  boyhood 
days.  It  is  like  horseback-riding — one  must 
be  at  it  all  the  time  if  he  is  to  feel  comfort- 
able. Snow-shoes  must  be  understood,  or 
they  will  not  get  along  with  you. 
125 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

Bebe  Larette  laughingly  said,  "  Purty  soon 
you  mak  de  snow-shoe  go  more  less  lak  dey 
was  crazee." 

Having  arranged  to  haul  the  supplies  into 
the  "bush"  next  day,  we  lay  down  for  the 
night  in  the  warm  cabin,  tucked  in  and  ba- 
bied by  our  generous  French  guides.  The 
good  old  Irishman,  Mr.  O'Shannahan,  was 
the  last  to  withdraw. 

"  Mr.  O'Shannahan,  what  do  the  French 
say  for  'good-night'?" 

"  Well,  som'  o'  thim  says  *  Bung-sware,'  and 
som'  o'  thim  says  'Bung  way';"  but  none  of 
them,  I  imagine,  say  it  just  like  Mr.  O'Shan- 
nahan. 

With  the  daylight  our  hut  began  to  abound 
with  the  activities  of  the  coming  day.  A 
guide  had  a  fire  going,  and  Mr.  O'Shannahan 
stood  warming  himself  beside  it.  The  Essex 
trooper,  having  reduced  himself  to  the  buff, 
put  on  an  old  pair  of  moccasins  and  walked 
out  into  the  snow.  The  New  Jersey  ther- 
mometer which  we  had  brought  along  may 
not  have  as  yet  gotten  acclimated,  but  it 
solemnly  registered  5°  below  zero. 

"  Bebe,  will  you  kindly  throw  a  bucket  of 
126 


THE   ESSEX   TROOPER 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

water  over  my  back?"  he  asked;  but  Beb£ 
might  as  well  have  been  asked  to  kindly  shoot 
the  Essex  trooper  with  a  gun,  or  to  hit  him 
with  an  axe.  Bebe  would  have  neither  ice- 
water,  rifle,  nor  axe  on  his  pious  soul. 

I  knew  the  stern  requirements  of  the  morn- 
ing bath,  and  dowsed  him  with  the  desired 
water,  when  he  capered  into  the  cabin  and 
began  with  his  crash  towel  to  rub  for  the  re- 
action. Seeing  that  Mr.  O'Shannahan  was 
perturbed,  I  said : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  act  ?" 

"  Oi  think  a  mon  is  ez  will  aff  be  the  soide 
av  this  stove  as  to  be  havin'  the  loikes  av  yez 
poor  ice-wather  down  his  spoine." 

Mr.  O'Shannahan  reflected  and  hunched 
nearer  the  box-stove,  saying  :  "  It's  nowgaun 
a  year,  but  oi  did  say  a  mon  do  mooch  the 
loikes  av  that  wan  day.  He  divisted  himself 
av  his  last  stitch,  an'  daylibera/^ly  wint  out 
an'  rowled  himsilf  in  the  snow.  That  before 
brikfast,moind  ye.  Oi've  no  doobt  he's  long 
since  dead.  Av  the  loikes  av  this  t'ing  do  be 
goan  an,  an'  is  rayparted  down  en  the  Parlia- 
mint,  they'll  be  havin'  a  law  fer  it  —  more's 
the  nade." 

127 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

After  breakfast  a  hundred  pounds  of  our 
war  material  was  loaded  on  each  toboggan. 
We  girded  on  our  snow-shoes  and  started 
out  to  break  trail  for  the  sledges.  I  know 
of  no  more  arduous  work.  And  while  the 
weather  was  very  cold,  Mr.  O'Shannahan 
nearly  undressed  us  before  he  was  satisfied 
at  our  condition  for  bush-ranging.  We  sank 
from  eight  to  ten  inches  in  the  soft  snow. 
The  raising  of  the  snow- burdened  racket 
tells  on  lung  and  ankle  and  loin  with  killing 
force.  Like  everything  else,  one  might  be- 
come accustomed  to  lugging  say  ten  pounds 
extra  on  each  set  of  toes,  but  he  would  have 
to  take  more  than  a  day  at  it.  The  perspira- 
tion comes  in  streams,  which  showed  the 
good  of  O'Shannahan's  judgment.  Besides, 
before  we  had  gone  three  miles  we  began  to 
understand  the  mistake  of  not  wearing  our 
forty  dollars'  worth  of  socks.  Also  we  had 
our  moccasins  on  the  outside,  or  next  to  the 
snow-shoes.  They  got  damp,  froze  into 
something  like  sheet-iron,  and  had  a  fine  ice- 
glaze  on  their  bottoms  which  made  them 
slip  and  slide  backward  and  forward  on  the 
snow-shoes. 

128 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

After  three  miles,  Beb£  readjusted  and  tied 
my  moccasins,  when  Oliver,  the  cook,  who 
was  a  very  intelligent  man,  mopped  his  fore- 
head with  his  shirt-sleeve  and  observed: 

"  Excuse  me,  I  t'ink  you  bettair  go  back 
dose  cabain  —  you  are  not  fix  hup  more 
propair  for  dees  beesness.  Ma  dear  fren', 
dose  man  een  Quebec  what  sol'  you  dose 
t'ing" — and  here  his  quiet,  patient  personal- 
ity was  almost  overcome,  this  human  reflec- 
tion of  the  long  Northern  winter  could  not 
calm  himself,  so  he  blurted,  in  his  peaceful 
way  —  "dose  man  een  Quebec  dey  weare 
know  not'ing." 

We  were  in  the  light  of  a  great  truth — the 
shoes  would  not  stay  on — the  thongs  cut  our 
toes — we  had  outlived  our  usefulness  as  trail- 
breakers,  and  we  succumbed.  The  back 
track  was  one  of  my  greatest  misfortunes  in 
life,  but  it  was  such  a  measly  lot  of  cold-fin- 
ger, frozen-toe,  slip- down  detail  that  I  will 
forbear.  My  companions  were  equally  un- 
fortunate ;  so  when  we  finally  fell  into  the 
arms  of  Mr.  O'Shannahan,  he  said: 

"  Ah,  a  great  hardship.  Oi  will  make  that 
matter  plain  to  yez." 

129 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

The  sledges  had  deposited  their  loads  half- 
way up  the  trail,  the  guides  coming  back  for 
the  night. 

Next  morning  the  remainder  of  our  stuff 
was  loaded,  and  with  renewed  faith  we  strode 
forth.  The  snow-shoes  were  now  all  right, 
and,  with  five  pairs  of  socks  apiece  —  one 
outside  the  moccasins — the  thongs  could 
not  eat  our  toes.  We  took  photographs  of 
our  moccasins — unwholesome,  swollen  things 
— and  dedicated  the  plates  to  Mr.  Kipling  as 
"  the  feet  of  the  young  men." 

The  country  of  the  Little  Saguenay  is  as 
rough  as  any  part  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
It  is  the  custom  to  dress  lightly  for  travel- 
ling, notwithstanding  the  20°  below  zero, 
and  even  then  one  perspires  very  freely, 
making  it  impossible  to  stop  long  for  a  rest, 
on  account  of  the  chill  of  the  open  pores. 
Ice  forms  on  eyebrow,  hair,  and  mustache, 
while  the  sweat  freezes  in  scales  on  the  back 
of  one's  neck.  The  snow  falls  from  the 
trees  on  the  voyager,  and  melting  slightly 
from  the  heat  of  the  body,  forms  cakes  of 
ice.  Shades  of  Nansen  and  all  the  Arctic 
men!  I  do  not  understand  why  they  are 
130 


CARIBOU    TRACK 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

not  all  pillars  of  ice,  unless  it  be  that  there 
are  no  trees  to  dump  snow  on  them.  The 
spruce  and  hemlock  of  these  parts  all  point 
upward  as  straight  as  one  could  set  a  lance, 
to  resist  the  constant  fall  of  snow.  If  one 
leaned  ever  so  little  out  of  the  perpendicu- 
lar, it  could  not  survive  the  tremendous 
average  of  fifty  feet  of  snowfall  each  winter. 
Their  branches,  too,  do  not  grow  long,  else 
they  would  snap  under  the  weight.  Every 
needle  on  the  evergreens  has  its  little  bur- 
den of  white,  and  without  intermission  the 
snow  comes  sifting  down  from  the  sky 
through  the  hush  of  the  winter.  When  we 
stopped,  and  the  creak  of  the  snow-shoes 
was  still,  we  could  almost  hear  our  hearts 
beat.  We  could  certainly  hear  the  cracking 
of  the  tobacco  burning  in  our  pipes.  It  had 
a  soothing,  an  almost  seductive  influence, 
that  muffle  of  snow.  So  solemn  is  it,  so  lit- 
tle you  feel  yourself,  that  it  is  a  conscious- 
ness which  brings  unconsciousness,  and  the 
calm  white  forest  is  almost  deadening  in  its 
beauty.  The  winter  forest  means  death. 

Then  came  the  guides  dragging  their  to- 
boggans, and  we  could  hear  them  pant  and 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

grunt  and  creak  and  slip ;  how  they  manage 
the  fearful  work  is  quite  beyond  me.  Used 
to  it,  I  suppose.  So  are  pack -mules;  but 
think  of  the  generations  of  suffering  behind 
this  which  alone  makes  it  possible.  The 
men  of  the  pack,  the  paddle,  snow-shoe,  to- 
boggan, and  axe  do  harder,  more  exhausting 
work  than  any  other  set  of  people ;  they  are 
nearer  to  the  primitive  strain  against  the 
world  of  matter  than  are  other  men — they 
are  the  "  wheelers,"  so  to  speak. 

The  last  stage  up  the  mountain  was  a 
lung- burster,  but  finally  we  got  to  a  lake, 
which  was  our  objective.  It  was  smooth. 

"  Let  us  take  off  these  instruments  of 
torture  and  rest  our  feet  on  the  smooth 
going,"  said  we,  in  our  innocence,  and  we 
undid  a  snow-shoe  each.  The  released  foot 
went  into  the  snow  up  to  our  middles,  and 
into  water  besides.  We  resumed  our  snow- 
shoe,  but  the  wet  moccasins  coming  in  con- 
tact with  the  chill  air  became  as  iron.  Our 
frozen  snow-shoe  thongs  were  wires  of  steel. 
Our  hands  were  cold  with  the  work  of  read- 
justment, our  bodies  chilled  with  the  waiting. 
It  was  a  bad  half-hour  before  the  cabin  was 
132 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

reached.  We  built  a  fire,  but  the  provisions 
had  not  come  up,  so  we  sat  around  and 
gazed  with  glaring  eyes  at  each  other.  The 
Essex  trooper  and  I  talked  of  eating  the  old 
Yale  stroke,  who  was  our  companion,  but  we 
agreed  he  was  too  tough.  I  was  afraid  for  a 
time  that  a  combination  might  be  made 
against  me  on  those  lines,  but  luckily  the 
toboggans  arrived. 

The  log  cabin  was  seventeen  feet  square, 
so  what  with  the  room  taken  by  the  bunks, 
box-stove,  our  provender  and  dunnage,  the 
lobby  of  the  house  was  somewhat  crowded. 
There  were  three  Americans  and  five  French- 
men. The  stove  was  of  the  most  excitable 
kind,  never  satisfied  to  do  its  mere  duty,  but 
threatening  a  holocaust  with  every  fresh 
stick  of  wood.  We  made  what  we  called 
"atmospheric  cocktails"  by  opening  the 
door  and  letting  in  one  part  of  20°  below 
zero  air  to  two  parts  of  165°  above  zero  air, 
seasoned  with  French  bitters.  It  had  the 
usual  effect  of  all  cocktails;  we  should  much 
have  preferred  the  "  straight  goods  "  at,  say, 

70°. 

In  the  morning  we  began  a  week's  work 
133 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

at  caribou-hunting.  It  is  proper  to  state  at 
this  interval  that  this  article  can  have  no 
"  third  act,"  for  success  did  not  crown  our 
efforts.  We  scoured  the  woods  industrious- 
ly behind  our  India-rubber,  leather-lunged 
guides,  with  their  expert  snow-shoeing,  and 
saw  many  caribou  ;  but  they  saw  us  first,  or 
smelled  us,  or  heard  us,  and,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  two  "  clean  misses,"  we  had  no 
chance.  It  may  be  of  interest  to  tell  what 
befalls  those  who  "miss,"  according  to  the 
rough  law  of  the  cabin.  The  returning  hunt- 
er may  deny  it  vigorously,  but  the  grinning 
of  the  guide  is  ample  testimony  for  convic- 
tion. The  hunter  is  led  to  the  torture  tree. 
All  the  men,  cook  included,  pour  out  of  the 
cabin  and  line  up.  The  "misser"  is  required 
to  assume  a  very  undignified  posture,  when 
all  the  men  take  a  hack  at  him  with  a  frozen 
moccasin.  It  is  rude  fun,  but  the  howls  of 
laughter  ring  through  the  still  forest,  and 
even  the  unfortunate  sportsman  feels  that  he 
has  atoned  for  his  deed. 

Beb6  Larette  killed  a  young  caribou,  which 
was  brought  into  camp  for  our  observation. 
It  was  of  a  color  different  from  what  we  had 
134 


THE   CABIN 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

expected,  darker  on  the  back,  blacker  on  the 
muzzle,  and  more  the  color  of  the  tree  trunks 
among  which  it  lives.  Indeed,  we  had  it 
frozen  and  set  up  in  the  timber  to  be  photo- 
graphed and  painted.  Standing  there,  it 
was  almost  invisible  in  its  sameness. 

Its  feet  were  the  chief  interest,  for  we  had 
all  seen  and  examined  its  tracks.  If  one 
puts  his  hand  down  into  the  track,  he  will 
find  a  hard  pillar  of  snow  which  is  com- 
pressed by  their  cup-like  feet ;  and  more 
striking  still  is  it  that  the  caribou  does  not 
sink  in  the  snow  as  far  as  our  big  snow-shoes, 
not  even  when  it  runs,  which  it  is  able  to  do 
in  four  feet  of  snow  with  the  speed  of  a  red 
deer  on  dry  ground.  In  these  parts  the  cari- 
bou has  no  enemy  but  man  :  the  wolf  and 
the  panther  do  not  live  here,  though  the 
lynx  does,  but  I  could  not  learn  that  he  at- 
tacks the  caribou. 

From  Mr.  Whitney's  accounts,  I  was  led  to 
believe  the  caribou  was  a  singularly  stupid 
beast,  which  he  undoubtedly  is  in  the  Barren 
Grounds.  For  sportsmen  who  hunt  in  the  fall 
of  the  year  he  is  not  regarded  as  especially 
difficult— he  is  easily  shot  from  boats  around 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

ponds ;  but  to  kill  a  caribou  in  the  Lauren- 
tian  Mountains  in  midwinter  is  indeed  a  feat. 
This  is  due  to  the  deathly  stillness  of  the  win- 
ter forest,  and  the  snow- shoeing  difficulties 
which  beset  even  the  most  clever  sportsman. 

This  brings  to  my  mind  the  observation 
that  snow-shoeing,  as  a  hunter  is  required  to 
do  it  when  on  the  caribou  track,  has  the  same 
relationship  to  the  "club  snow-shoe  run," 
so  called,  that  "park  riding"  has  to  "  punch- 
ing cows."  The  men  of  the  "bush"  have 
short  and  broad  oval  shoes,  and  they  must 
go  up  and  down  the  steepest  imaginable 
places,  and  pass  at  good  speed  and  perfect 
silence  through  the  most  dense  spruce  and 
tamarack  thickets,  for  there  the  caribou  leads. 
The  deep  snow  covers  up  the  small  evergreen 
bushes,  but  they  resist  it  somewhat,  leaving 
a  soft  spot,  which  the  hunter  is  constantly 
falling  into  with  fatal  noise.  If  he  runs  against 
a  tree,  down  comes  an  avalanche  of  snow, 
which  sounds  like  thunder  in  the  quiet. 

I  was  brought  to  a  perfectly  fresh  track  of 
three  caribou  by  two  guides,  and  taking  the 
trail,  we  found  them  not  alarmed,  but  travel- 
ling rapidly.  So  "  hot "  was  the  trail  that  I 


THE  WHITE  FOREST 

removed  the  stocking  from  my  gun -breech. 
We  moved  on  with  as  much  speed  as  we 
could  manage  in  silence.  The  trees  were 
cones  of  snow,  making  the  forest  dense,  like 
soft-wood  timber  in  summer.  We  were  led 
up  hills,  through  dense  hemlock  thickets, 
where  the  falling  snow  nearly  clogged  the 
action  of  my  rifle  and  filled  the  sights  with 
ice.  I  was  forced  to  remove  my  right  mit- 
ten to  keep  them  ice -clear  by  warming  with 
the  bare  hand.  The  snow- shoeing  was  diffi- 
cult and  fatiguing  to  the  utmost,  as  mile  after 
mile  we  wound  along  after  those  vagrant  car- 
ibou. We  found  a  small  pond  where  they  had 
pawed  for  water,  and  it  had  not  yet  frozen 
after  their  drink. 

Now  is  the  time  when  the  hunter  feels  the 
thrill  which  is  the  pleasure  of  the  sport. 

Down  the  sides  of  the  pond  led  the  trail, 
then  twisting  and'  turning,  it  entered  the 
woods  and  wound  up  a  little  hill.  Old  man 
Larette  fumbled  the  snow  with  his  bare  hand ; 
he  lifted  towards  us  some  unfrozen  spoor — 
good,  cheerful  old  soul,  his  eyes  were  those 
of  a  panther.  Now  we  set  our  shoes  ever  so 
carefully,  pressing  them  down  slowly,  and 
137 


THE    WHITE    FOREST 

shifting  our  weight  cautiously  lest  the  footing 
be  false.  The  two  hunters  crouched  in  the 
snow,  pointing.  I  cocked  my  rifle  ;  one  snow- 
shoe  sunk  slowly  under  me  —  the  snow  was 
treacherous  —  and  three  dark  objects  flitted 
like  birds  past  the  only  opening  in  the  forest, 
seventy-five  yards  ahead. 

"  Take  the  gun,  Con,"  I  said,  and  my  voice 
broke  on  the  stillness  harshly:  the  game  was 
up,  the  disappointment  keen.  The  reaction 
of  disgust  was  equal  to  the  suppressed  elation 
of  the  second  before.  "  Go  to  camp  the  near- 
est way,  Larette." 

The  country  was  full  of  caribou.  They 
travel  constantly,  not  staying  in  one  section. 
New  tracks  came  every  day  into  our  little 
territory.  We  stalked  and  worked  until  our 
patience  gave  out,  when  we  again  loaded  our 
toboggans  for  the  back  track. 

At  Mr.  O'Shannahan's  we  got  our  burleaus, 
and  jingled  into  St.  Raymond  by  the  light  of 
the  moon. 


THEY   BORE   A    HAND 


THEY   BORE   A   HAND 

WHEN  Mrs.  Kessel,  with  the  two  chil- 
dren, saw  the  troops  pack  up  and  en- 
train their  horses,  she  had  plenty  of  things 
to  do  for  the  major  besides  control  her  feel- 
ings. It  had  happened  so  many  times  before 
that  it  was  not  a  particularly  distinct  sensa- 
tion ;  but  the  going  forth  of  an  armed  man 
is  always  thrilling  —  yes,  even  after  twenty 
years  of  it.  She  did  not  think,  I  imagine, 
but  she  knew  many  wives  of  regular  army 
officers  whom  Congress  had  forgotten  after 
the  dead  heroes  had  been  heralded  up  and 
down  the  land  and  laid  away.  The  "  still, 
small  voice  "  of  the  army  widow  doesn't  make 
the  halls  of  Congress  yell  with  rage  at  the 
stern  facts.  But  she  was  accustomed,  since 
the  year  of  their  marriage,  to  the  departure 
of  her  besabred  husband,  and  that  was  the 
141 


THEY    BORE    A    HAND 

"worse"  for  which  she  married  him.  The 
eldest  girl  was  as  near  twenty  as  I  can  tell 
about  such  things.  They  were  excited  by 
the  fast  moving  of  events,  and  the  flash  of 
steel  had  benumbed  their  reflective  quality, 
but  papa  was  a  soldier,  and  Spain  had  to  be 
licked.  Who  could  do  it  better  than  papa, 
Oestreicher,  his  orderly  trumpeter,  and  the 
gallant  Third,  those  nimble  athletes  who  took 
the  three  bareback  horses  over  the  hurdles 
in  the  riding -hall?  Who  could  withstand 
the  tearing  charge  down  the  parade  with  the 
white  blades  flashing?  Nothing  but  Oest- 
reicher with  his  trumpet  could  stop  that. 

Oestreicher  had  told  them  a  thousand  times 
that  papa  could  lick  any  one  under  any  con- 
ceivable circumstances.  They  very  well  knew 
that  he  had  followed  the  flying  Arapaho  vil- 
lage far  into  the  night,  until  he  had  captured 
everything ;  they  were  familiar  with  the  nice- 
ties of  the  Apache  round-up  at  San  Carlos, 
because  Oestreicher  had  handed  the  major  a 
six-shooter  at  the  particular  instant,  and  the 
terrible  ten  days'  battle  with  the  revengeful 
Cheyennes,  when  the  snow  was  up  to  the 
horses'  bellies,  had  been  done  to  death  by 
142 


THEY     BORE    A    HAND 

the  orderly.  Papa  had  been  shot  before,  but 
it  hadn't  killed  him,  and  they  had  never  heard 
of  "  Yellow-Jack"  on  the  high  plains.  Papa 
did  all  this  with  Oestreicher  to  help  him,  to 
be  sure,  for  the  orderly  always  declared  him- 
self a  full  partner  in  the  major's  doings,  and 
divided  the  glory  as  he  thought  best. 

Oestreicher,  orderly  .trumpeter,  was  white 
and  bald.  He  never  stated  any  recollections 
of  the  time  before  he  was  a  soldier.  He  was 
a  typical  German  of  the  soldier  class  ;  a  fierce 
red  in  the  face,  illuminated  by  a  long,  yel- 
lowish-white mustache,  but  in  body  becom- 
ing a  trifle  wobbly  with  age.  He  had  been 
following  the  guidon  for  thirty -seven  years. 
That  is  a  long  time  for  a  man  to  have  been 
anything,  especially  a  trooper. 

Oh  yes,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  Oest- 
reicher got  drunk  on  pay-days  and  state  oc- 
casions, but  he  was  too  old  to  change ;  in  his 
day  that  thing  was  done.  Also,  he  had  love- 
affairs  of  no  very  complex  nature.  They 
were  never  serious  enough  for  the  girls  to 
hear  of.  Also,  he  had  played  the  various 
financial  allurements  of  the  adjoining  town, 
until  his  "  final  statement"  would  be  the 


THEY    BORE    A    HAND 

month's  pay  then  due.  But  this  bold  hu- 
manity welled  up  in  Oestreicher  thoroughly 
mixed  with  those  soft  virtues  which  made 
every  one  come  to  him  when  he  was  in  trou- 
ble. He  was  a  professional  soldier,  who  knew 
no  life  outside  a  Sibley  or  a  barrack,  except 
the  major's  home,  which  he  helped  the  major 
to  run.  To  the  girls  this  had  been  always  so. 
On  the  drill-ground  the  major  undoubtedly 
had  to  be  taken  into  account,  but  at  the  ma- 
jor's quarters  Oestreicher  had  so  close  an  al- 
liance with  madam  and  the  girls  that  the  "old 
man"  made  a  much  smaller  impression.  A 
home  always  should  be  a  pure  democracy. 

The  Kessel  .outfit  was  like  this:  It  was 
" military  satrap"  from  the  front  door  out, 
but  inside  it  was  "  the  most  lovable  person 
commands,"  and  Oestreicher  often  got  this 
assignment. 

In  the  barracks  Oestreicher  was  always 
"Soda"  —  this  was  an  old  story,  which  may 
have  related  to  his  hair,  or  his  taste,  or  an 
episode— but  no  man  in  the  troop  knew  why. 
When  they  joined,  Oestreicher  was  "Soda," 
and  traditions  were  iron  in  the  Third. 

Oestreicher  and  the  major  got  along  with- 
144 


THEY    BORE    A    HAND 

out  much  friction.  After  pay-day  the  major 
would  say  all  manner  of  harsh  things  about 
the  orderly  because  he  was  away  on  a  drunk, 
but  in  due  time  Oestreicher  would  turn  up 
smiling.  Madam  and  the  girls  made  his 
peace,  and  the  major  subsided.  He  had  got 
mad  after  this  manner  at  this  man  until  it 
was  a  mere  habit,  so  the  orderly  trumpeter 
never  came  up  with  the  court-martialling  he 
so  frequently  courted,  for  which  that  worthy 
was  duly  grateful,  and  readily  forgave  the 
major  his  violent  language. 

For  days  Oestreicher  and  the  women  folks 
had  been  arranging  the  major's  field  kit.  The 
major  looked  after  the  troops  and  the  trump- 
eter looked  after  the  major,  just  as  he  had 
for  years  and  years  before.  When  the  train 
was  about  to  pull  out,  the  major  kissed  away 
his  wife's  tears  and  embraced  his  children, 
while  Oestreicher  stood  by  the  back  door  of 
the  Pullman,  straight  and  solemn. 

"  Now  look  out  for  the  major,"  solicited 
the  wife,  while  the  two  pretty  girls  pulled 
the  tall  soldier  down  and  printed  two  kisses 
on  his  red -burnt  cheeks,  which  he  received 
in  a  disciplined  way. 

145 


THEY    BORE    A    HAND 

"  Feed  Shorty  and  Bill  [dogs]  at  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  and  see  that  they  don't  get 
fed  out  of  mess  hours,"  said  the  orderly  to 
the  girls,  and  the  women  got  off  the  cars. 

And  Oestreicher  never  knew  that  madam 
had  told  the  major  to  look  out  well  for  the 
orderly,  because  he  was  old,  and  might  not 
stand  things  which  he  had  in  the  earlier  years. 
That  did  not  matter,  however,  because  it  was 
all  a  day's  work  to  the  toughened  old  soldier. 
The  dogs,  the  horses,  the  errands,  the  girls, 
the  major,  were  habits  with  him,  and  as  for 
the  present  campaign — he  had  been  on  many 
before.  It  gave  only  a  slight  titillation. 

Thus  moved  forth  this  atom  of  humanity 
with  his  thousands  of  armed  countrymen  to 
do  what  had  been  done  before — set  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  over  the  frontier  and  hold  them 
there.  Indians,  greasers,  Spaniards — it  was 
all  the  same,  just  so  the  K  Troop  guidon  was 
going  that  way. 

The  "  shave-tails  "  could  kick  and  cuss  at 
the  criminal  slowness  of  the  troop  train's 
progress,  but  Oestreicher  made  himself  com- 
fortable with  his  pipe  and  newspaper,  won- 
dering what  kind  of  cousins  Spaniards  were 
146 


THEY    BORE    A    HAND 

to  Mexicans,  and  speculating  with  another 
old  yellow-leg  on  the  rough  forage  of  Cuba. 

So  he  progressed  with  the  well-known 
events  to  Tampa  and  to  Daiquiri,  and  here 
he  fell  over  a  very  bad  hurdle.  He  could 
brown  hardtack  in  artful  ways,  he  did  not 
mind  the  mud,  he  could  blow  a  trumpet  to 
a  finish,  he  could  ride  a  horse  as  far  as  the 
road  was  cut  out,  but  the  stiffened  knees  of 
the  old  cavalryman  were  badly  sprung  under 
the  haversack  and  blanket-roll  afoot. 

The  column  was  well  out  on  the  road  to 
Siboney,  when  the  major  noted  the  orderly's 
distress:  "Oestreicher,  fall  out — go  back  to 
the  transport.  You  can't  keep  up.  I  will 
give  you  an  order,"  which  he  did. 

The  poor  old  soldier  fell  to  the  rear  of  the 
marching  men  and  sat  down  on  the  grass. 
He  was  greatly  depressed,  both  in  body  and 
mind,  but  was  far  from  giving  up.  As  he 
sat  brooding,  he  noticed  a  ragged  Cuban 
coming  down  the  road  on  a  flea-bitten  pony, 
which  was  heavily  loaded  with  the  cast-off 
blankets  of  the  volunteers.  A  quick,  lawless 
thought  energized  the  broken  man,  and  he 
shoved  a  shell  into  his  Krag  carbine.  Rising 
147 


THEY    BORE    A    HAND 

slowly,  he  walked  to  meet  the  ragged  figure. 
He  quickly  drew  a  bead  on  the  sable  patriot, 

saying,  "  Dismount — get  down — you  d 

greaser !" 

"  No  entiendo." 

"  Get  down." 

"  For  Dios,  hombre,  que  va  hacer?"  and  at 
this  juncture  Oestreicher  poked  the  Cuban  in 
the  belly  with  his  carbine,  and  he  slid  off  on 
the  other  side. 

"Now  run  along — vamoose — underlay — 
get  a  gait  on  you,"  sang  out  the  blue  soldier, 
while  the  excited  Cuban  backed  up  the  road, 
waving  his  hands  and  saying,  "Bandolero, 
ladrone,  sin  verguenza  —  porque  me  roba  el 
caballo  ?" 

To  which  Oestreicher  simply  said,  "  Oh 
hell!" 

Not  for  a  second  did  Oestreicher  know  that 
he  was  a  high  agent  of  the  law.  Be  it  known 
that  any  man  who  appropriates  property  of 
your  Uncle  Samuel  can  be  brought  to  book. 
It  is  hard  to  defend  his  actions,  when  one 
considers  his  motive  and  the  horse. 

The  final  result  was  that  Oestreicher  ap- 
peared behind  the  Third  Cavalry,  riding 
148 


"  *  DISMOUNT — GET   DOWN  '  " 


THEY    BORE    A    HAND 

nicely,  with  his  blanket-roll  before  his  sad- 
dle. The  troops  laughed,  and  the  major 
looked  behind  ;  but  he  quickly  turned  away, 
grinning,  and  said  to  Captain  Hardier: 

"Look  at  the  d old  orderly!  If  that 

isn't  a  regular  old-soldier  trick!  I'm  glad  he 
has  a  mount ;  you  couldn't  lose  him.'* 

"Yes,"  replied  the  addressed,  "you  can 
order  Oestreicher  to  do  anything  but  get 
away  from  the  Third.  Can't  have  any  more 
of  this  horse -stealing;  it's  demoralizing," 
and  the  regiment  plodded  along,  laughing  at 
old  "  Soda,"  who  sheepishly  brought  up  the 
rear,  wondering  what  justice  had  in  store  for 
him. 

Nothing  happened,  however,  and  present- 
ly Oestreicher  sought  the  major,  who  was 
cursing  his  luck  for  having  missed  the  fight 
at  Las  Guasimas.  He  condoled  with  the 
major  in  a  tactful  way  he  had,  which  busi- 
ness softened  things  up.  While  the  major 
was  watching  him  boil  the  coffee  in  the  tin 
cups  over  a  little  "  Indian  fire,"  he  put  the 
order  in  the  flames,  and  it  went  up  in  smoke. 

"  You  old  rascal !"  was  all  the  major  said, 
which  meant  that  the  incident  was  closed. 

N  149 


THEY    BORE    A    HAND 

Right  glad  was  the  major  to  have  his 
orderly  during  the  next  week.  The  years 
had  taught  Oestreicher  how  to  stick  a  dog- 
tent  and  make  a  bed,  and  how  to  cook  and 
forage.  Oestreicher's  military  conscience 
never  vibrated  over  misappropriated  things 
to  eat,  and  Fagin  could  not  have  taught  him 
any  new  arts. 

Then  came  the  fateful  morning  when  the 
Third  lay  in  the  long  grass  under  the  hail  of 
Mausers  and  the  sickening  sun.  "  Will  the 
major  have  some  water  ?"  said  Oestreicher,  as 
he  handed  over  one  canteen. 

"  You  go  lie  down  there  with  the  men  and 
don't  follow  me  around — you  will  get  shot," 
commanded  Kessel ;  but  when  he  looked 
around  again,  there  was  Oestreicher  stalking 
behind.  He  could  fool  away  no  more  energy 
on  the  man. 

Then  came  the  forward  movement,  the 
firing  and  the  falling  men,  and  ahead  strode 
the  officer,  waving  his  sword  and  shouting 
fiercely.  Behind  followed  the  jaded  old 
trumpeter,  making  hard  going  of  it,  but  de- 
termined to  keep  up.  His  eye  was  not  on 
the  blazing  heights,  but  on  the  small  of  the 
150 


THEY    BORE    A    HAND 

major's  back,  when  the  officer  turned,  facing 
him,  and  he  ran  into  his  arms.  Down  over 
his  major's  face  came  gushes  of  blood.  He 
reeled — would  have  fallen  but  for  the  sup- 
porting arms  of  the  soldier.  The  rush  of 
men  passed  them. 

They  lay  down  in  the  grass.  The  orderly 
brushed  the  blood  from  the  pale  face,  while 
he  cut  up  a  "  first-aid  "  bandage  and  bound 
the  wound.  Then  he  gave  him  water ;  but 
the  major  was  far  gone,  and  the  orderly 
trumpeter  was  very  miserable.  Oestreicher 
replaced  the  major's  sword  in  its  scabbard. 
Men  came  tottering  back,  holding  on  to 
their  wounds. 

"Say,  Johnson,"  sung  out  Oestreicher  to 
a  passing  soldier,  "  you  ain't  hit  bad  ;  gimme 
a  lift  with  the  major  here."  The  soldier 
stopped,  while  they  picked  up  the  uncon- 
scious officer  and  moved  heavily  off  towards 
the  Red  Cross  flag.  Suddenly  they  lurched 
badly,  and  all  three  figures  sank  in  the  pea- 
green  grass.  A  volley  had  found  them. 
Johnson  rolled  slowly  from  side  to  side  and 
spat  blood.  He  was  dying.  Oestreichef 
hung  on  to  one  of  his  arms,  and  the  bluish- 


THEY    BORE    A    HAND 

mauve  of  the  shirt-sleeve  grew  slowly  to  a 
crimson  lake.  He  sat  helplessly  turning  his 
eyes  from  the  gasping  Johnson,  the  pale 
major,  and  the  flaming  hill -crest.  He  put 
his  hat  over  the  major's  face.  He  drank 
from  his  canteen.  There  was  nothing  to  do. 
The  tropical  July  sun  beat  on  them,  until 
his  head  swam  under  the  ordeal. 

Presently  a  staff-officer  came  by  on  ahorse. 

"  Say,  captain,"  yelled  the  soldier,  "come 
here.  Major  Kessel  is  shot  in  the  head. 
Take  him,  won't  you?" 

"  Oh,  is  that  you  ?"  said  the  one  addressed 
as  he  rode  up,  for  he  remembered  Kessel's 
orderly.  Dismounting,  the  two  put  the  limp 
form  on  the  horse.  While  Oestreicher  led 
the  animal,  the  captain  held  the  nearly  life- 
less man  in  the  saddle,  bent  forward  and 
rolling  from  side  to  side.  Thus  they  pro- 
gressed to  the  blood -soaked  sands  beside 
the  river,  where  the  surgeons  were  working 
grimly  and  quickly. 

It  was  a  month  before  the  pale  old  men 

got  off   the  train  at  Burton,  one  an  officer 

and  the  other  a   soldier,  and   many   people 

in  the  station  had  a  thrill  of  mingled  pity 

152 


'I   HOPE  THE   COLONEL   WON'T   GET   MAD'" 


THEY    BORE    A    HAND 

and  awe  as  they  looked  at  them.  Two  very 
pretty  girls  kissed  them  both,  and  people 
wondered  the  more.  But  the  papers  next 
morning  told  something  about  it,  and  no 
policeman  could  be  induced  to  arrest  Oest- 
reicher  that  day  when  he  got  drunk  in 
Hogan's  saloon,  telling  how  he  and  the 
major  took  San  Juan  Hill. 

Time  wore  on  —  wounds  healed,  and  the 
troops  came  back  from  Montauk  to  the  yell- 
ing multitudes  of  Burton,  the  home  station. 
The  winter  chilled  the  fever  out  of  their 
blood.  The  recruits  came  in  and  were  pulled 
into  shape,  when  the  long-expected  order  for 
the  Philippines  came,  and  the  old  scenes  were 
re-enacted,  just  as  they  had  happened  in  the 
Kessel  household  so  many  times  before,  only 
with  a  great  difference :  Oestreicher  was  de- 
tached and  ordered  to  stay  in  the  guard  of 
the  post.  This  time  the  major,  who  was  a 
colonel  now,  settled  it  so  it  would  stay  settled. 
An  order  is  the  most  terrible  and  potent  thing 
a  soldier  knows.  Oestreicher  shed  tears,  he 
pleaded,  he  got  the  women  to  help  him,  but 
the  major  stamped  his  foot  and  became  ossi- 
fied about  the  mouth. 
153 


THEY    BORE    A    HAND 

Clearly  there  was  only  one  thing  left  for 
Oestreicher  to  do  in  this  case,  and  he  did  it 
with  soldierly  promptness.  He  got  drunk — 
good  and  drunk — and  the  Third  Cavalry  was 
on  its  way  to  Manila.  When  the  transport 
was  well  at  sea  from  Seattle,  the  colonel  was 
reading  a  novel  on  the  after-deck.  A  soldier 
approached  him,  saluting,  and  saying, "  I  hope 
the  colonel  won't  get  mad — " 

The  colonel  looked  up ;   his  eyes  opened, 

hesaid,slowly,"Well—  I— will— be— d !" 

and  he  continued  to  stare  helplessly  into  the 
cheerful  countenance  of  Oestreicher,  orderly 
trumpeter,  deserter,  stowaway,  soft  food  for 
court-martials.  "  How  did  you  get  here,  any- 
way ?" 

Then  the  colonel  had  a  military  fit.  He 
cussed  Oestreicher  long  and  loud,  told  him 
he  was  a  deserter,  said  his  long-service  pen- 
sion was  in  danger ;  and  true  it  is  that  Oest- 
reicher was  long  past  his  thirty  years  in  the 
army,  and  could  retire  at  any  time.  But 
through  it  all  the  colonel  was  so  astonished 
that  he  could  not  think — he  could  only  rave 
at  the  tangle  of  his  arrangements  in  the  old 
orderly's  interest. 

'54 


THE  DEATH   OF   OESTREICHER 


THEY    BORE    A    HAND 

"  How  did  you  get  here,  anyhow?" 

"Came  along  with  the  train,  sir — same 
train  you  were  on,  sir,"  vouchsafed  the  vet- 
eran. 

«  Well— well— well !"  soliloquized  the  colo- 
nel, as  he  sat  down  and  took  up  his  novel. 
"Get  out  —  I  don't  want  to  see  you  —  go 
away,"  and  Oestreicher  turned  on  his  heel. 

Other  officers  gathered  around  and  laughed 
at  the  colonel. 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  that  old  man?  I 
can't  court-martial  him.  He  would  get  a  mill- 
ion years  in  Leavenworth  if  I  did.  D 

these  old  soldiers,  anyhow — they  presume  on 
their  service!  What  can  I  do?" 

"  Don't  know,"  said  the  junior  major ; 
"  reckon  you'll  have  to  stay  home  yourself  if 
you  want  to  keep  Oestreicher  there." 

It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  public  senti- 
ment was  with  the  audacious  and  partly  hu- 
morous orderly. 

"  Well — we — will  see — we  will  see,"  testily 
jerked  the  old  man,  while  the  young  ones 
winked  at  each  other — long  broad  winks, 
which  curled  their  mouths  far  up  one  side. 

The  colonel  has  been  seeing  ever  since.  I 
155 


THEY    BORE    A    HAND 

have  only  just  found  out  what  he  "  saw,"  by 
a  letter  from  an  old  friend  of  mine  out  in  the 
Philippines,  which  I  shall  quote. 

"You  remember  Colonel  Kessel's  old  or- 
derly— Oestreicher?  Was  with  us  that  time 
we  were  shooting  down  in  Texas.  He  was 
ordered  to  stay  at  Jackson  Barracks,  but  he 
deserted.  The  men  hid  him  under  their  bunks 
on  the  railroad  train,  and  then  let  him  on  the 
transport  at  Seattle.  Soldiers  are  like  boys — 
they  will  help  the  wicked.  One  day  he  pre- 
sented himself  to  the  old  man.  Oh,  say — you 
ought  to  have  heard  the  old  Nan-Tan  cuss 
him  out — it  was  the  effort  of  the  '  old  man's' 
life  !  We  sat  around  and  enjoyed  it,  because 
Oestreicher  is  a  habit  with  the  colonel.  We 
knew  he  wouldn't  do  anything  about  it  after 
he  had  blown  off  steam. 

"  Well,  the  night  after  our  fight  at  Caba- 
natuan  it  was  dark  and  raining.  What  do 
you  suppose  I  saw  ?  Saw  the  '  old  man  '  in  a 
nipa  hut  with  a  doctor,  and  between  them 
old  Oestreicher,  shot  through  the  head  and 
dying.  There  was  the  colonel  sitting  around 
doing  what  he  could  for  his  old  dog-soldier. 
I  tell  you  it  was  a  mighty  touching  sight. 
156 


THEY    BORE    A    HAND 

Make  a  good  story  that  —  worked  up  with 
some  blue -lights  and  things.  He  sat  with 
him  until  he  died.  Many  officers  came  in  and 
stood  with  their  hats  off,  and  the  colonel 
actually  boo-hooed.  As  you  know,  boo-hoo- 
ing  ain't  the  *  old  man's*  long  suit  by  a  d — • — 
sight !" 


THE   TROUBLE    BROTHERS 

BILL  AND  THE  WOLF 


THE    TROUBLE    BROTHERS 

BILL  AND   THE  WOLF 

OADNESS  comes  when  we  think  of  how 
O  long  ago  things  happened.  Let  us  not 
bother  ourselves  about  time,  though  we  can- 
not cease  to  remember  that  it  took  youth  to 
sit  up  all  night  in  the  club  and  ride  all  next 
day,  or  sleep  twenty-four  hours  on  a  stretch, 
as  the  situation  demanded.  The  scene,  as  I 
recall  it,  demanded  exactly  that.  The  am- 
bulances of  Fort  Adobe  brought  a  party  of 
ranking  military  men,  sundry  persons  of  sub- 
stance, lesser  mortals  of  much  enthusiasm, 
and  Colonel  William  Cody — the  Great  Un- 
known—  up  the  long  thirty  miles  of  dusty 
plains  from  the  railroad.  The  yellow  coun- 
try in  the  autumn  is  dry  riding  and  hard 
work.  The  officers  stationed  at  the  post 
took  a  brotherly  interest  in  the  new-comers 
161 


THE    TROUBLE    BROTHERS 

because  they  were  also  sportsmen.  You 
could  not  drive  an  iron  wedge  between  the 
plains  type  of  officer  and  a  sportsman  with- 
out killing  both.  There  were  dinn^s  of  cus- 
tom and  such  a  gathering  at  the  club  as  was 
unusual,  where  the  hunting  plans  were  keen- 
ly discussed  —  so  keenly,  in  fact,  that  it  was 
nearer  morning  than  midnight  when  it  was 
considered  desirable  to  go  to  bed. 

There  were  dogs  which  the  sportsmen  had 
brought  along — fierce  wolf-hounds  from  Rus- 
sia— and  Buffalo  Bill  had  two  malignant  pups 
in  which  he  took  a  fine  interest.  The  officers 
at  Adobe  were  possessed  of  a  pack  of  rough 
Scotch  hounds,  besides  which,  if  every  in- 
dividual soldier  at  the  post  did  not  have  his 
individual  doggie,  I  must  have  made  a  mis- 
count. It  was  arranged  that  we  consolidate 
the  collection  and  run  a  wolf  on  the  morrow. 

When  sport  was  in  prospect,  reveille  was 
the  usual  hour,  regardless  of  bedtime.  Morn- 
ing found  us  all  mounted,  and  the  throng  of 
horses  started  up  the  road.  The  dogs  were 
kept  together  ;  the  morning  was  of  the  gold- 
en, frosty,  Adobe  type,  and  the  horses  could 
feel  the  run  which  was  coming  to  them. 
162 


THE    TROUBLE    BROTHERS 

Everything  was  ready  but  the  wolf.  It  was 
easy  to  find  wolves  in  that  country,  however. 
We  had  slow  dogs  to  trail  them  with.  But 
our  wolf  came  to  us  in  the  way  money  comes 
to  a  modern  politician. 

Bill,  the  chief  of  sports,  as  we  called  him, 
was  riding  ahead,  when  we  saw  him  stop  a 
wagon.  It  was  driven  by  an  old  "  prairie- 
dog,"*  and  on  the  bed  of  the  wagon  was  a 
box  made  of  poles  and  slats.  Inside  of  this 
was  a  big  gray  wolf,  which  the  man  had  caught 
in  a  trap  without  injuring  it  in  the  least.  He 
hoped  to  be  able  to  sell  it  at  the  post,  but  he 
realized  his  hope  and  his  price  right  there. 
"Now,  boys,  we'll  have  a  wolf-hunt;  but  let 
us  go  back  to  the  post,  where  the  ladies  and 
the  men  can  see  it." 

We  could  not  agree  whether  it  was  the 
colonel's  gallantry  or  his  circus  habits  which 
prompted  this  move,  but  it  was  the  thing 
which  brought  a  blighting  sorrow  to  Fort 
Adobe".  We  turned  back,  bundling  Mr.  Wolf 
down  the  road.  He  sat  behind  the  slats, 
gazing  far  away  across  his  native  hills,  silent 

*  Nondescript  man  of  the  plains. 
163 


THE    TROUBLE    BROTHERS 

and  dignified  as  an  Indian  warrior  in  cap- 
tivity. 

The  ladies  were  notified,  and  came  out  in 
traps.  The  soldiers  joined  us  on  horseback 
and  on  foot,  some  hundred  of  them,  each 
with  his  petyfo?*  at  his  heels. 

The  domestic  servants  of  the  line  came 
down  back  of  the  stables.  The  sentries  on 
post  even  walked  sidewise,  that  they  might 
miss  no  details.  Adobe"  was  out  for  a  race.  I 
had  never  supposed  there  were  so  many  dogs 
in  the  world.  As  pent-up  canine  animosi- 
ties displayed  themselves,  they  fell  to  taking 
bites  at  each  other  in  the  dense  gathering; 
but  their  owners  policed  and  soothed  them. 

Every  one  lined  up.  The  dogs  were  ar- 
ranged as  best  might.  The  wagon  was  driven 
well  out  in  front,  and  Colonel  William  Cody 
helped  the  driver  to  turn  the  wolf  loose,  a 
matter  which  gave  no  trouble  at  all.  They 
removed  two  slats,  and  if  there  had  been  a 
charge  of  melinite  behind  that  wolf  he  could 
not  have  hit  that  valley  any  harder. 

The  old  hounds,  which  had   scented  and 

*  Cur-dog. 
164 


THE    TROUBLE    BROTHERS 

had  seen  the  wolf,  straightway  started  on  his 
course.  With  a  wild  yell  the  cavalcade  sprang 
forward.  Many  cur-dogs  were  ridden  scream- 
ing under  foot.  The  two  bronco  ponies  of 
the  man  who  had  brought  the  wolf  turned 
before  the  rush  and  were  borne  along  with 
the  charge.  Everything  was  going  smoothly. 

Of  the  garrison  curs  many  were  left  be- 
hind. They  knew  nothing  about  wolves  or 
field-sports,  but,  addled  by  the  excitement, 
fell  into  the  old  garrison  feuds. 

At  a  ravine  we  were  checked.  I  looked 
behind,  and  the  intervening  half-mile  was 
dotted  here  and  there  with  dog-fights  of  vari- 
ous proportions.  Some  places  there  were 
as  high  as  ten  in  a  bunch,  and  at  others  only 
couples.  The  infantry  soldiers  came  running 
out  to  separate  them,  and,  to  my  infinite  sur- 
prise, I  saw  several  of  the  dough-boys  cir- 
cling each  other  in  the  well-known  attitudes 
of  the  prize-ring.  Officers  started  back  to 
pull  them  apart.  Our  dogs  were  highly  ex- 
cited. Two  of  them  flew  at  each  other;  more 
sprang  into  the  jangle.  The  men  yelled  at 
them  and  got  off  their  horses.  One  man 
kicked  another  man's  dog,  whereat  the  ag- 
165 


THE   TROUBLE    BROTHERS 

grieved  party  promptly  swatted  him  on  the 
eye.  This  is  the  way  it  began.  While  you 
read,  over  a  hundred  and  fifty  men  were 
pounding  each  other  with  virility,  while 
around  and  underfoot  fought  each  doggie 
with  all  possible  vim.  Greyhounds  cut  red 
slices  on  quarter-bred  bulls ;  fox-terriers  hung 
on  to  the  hind  legs  of  such  big  dogs  as  were 
fully  engaged  in  front.  Fangs  glistened ; 
they  yelled  and  bawled  and  growled,  while 
over  them  struggled  and  tripped  the  men  as 
they  swung  for  the  knock-out  blow.  If  a 
man  went  down  he  was  covered  with  biting 
and  tearing  dogs.  The  carnage  became  aw- 
ful—  a  variegated  foreground  was  becoming 
rapidly  red.  The  officers  yelled  at  the  men, 
trying  to  assert  their  authority,  but  no  offi- 
cer could  yell  as  loud  as  the  acre  of  dogs. 
By  this  time  the  men  were  so  frenzied  that 
they  could  not  tell  a  shoulder-strap  from  a 
bale  of  hay.  One  might  as  well  have  attempt- 
ed to  stop  the  battle  of  Gettysburg. 

Naturally  this  could  not  last  forever,  and 
gradually  the  men  were  torn  apart  and  the 
dogs  unhooked  their  fangs  from  their  adver- 
saries.   During  the  war  I  looked  towards  the 
166 


THE    TROUBLE    BROTHERS 

fort,  hoping  for  some  relief,  but  the  half-mile 
was  dotted  here  and  there  with  individuals 
thumping  and  pounding  each  other,  while 
their  dogs  fought  at  their  heels.  Where, 
where  had  I  seen  this  before,  thought  came. 
Yes,  yes  —  in  Caesar's  Commentaries.  They 
did  things  just  this  way  in  his  time.  Bare 
legs  and  short  swords  only  were  needed  here. 

Things  gradually  quieted,  and  the  men 
started  slowly  back  to  the  post  nursing  their 
wounds.  Most  of  the  horses  had  run  away 
during  the  engagement.  It  was  clear  to  be 
seen  that  plaster  and  liniment  would  run  short 
at  Adobe  that  day. 

Colonel  Cody  sat  on  his  horse,  thinking  of 
the  destruction  he  had  wrought. 

The  commanding  officer  gathered  himself 
and  sang  out :  "  Say,  Bill,  there  is  your  dog- 
goned  old  wolf  sitting  there  on  the  hill  look- 
ing at  you.  What  do  you  reckon  he  thinks?" 

"  I  reckon  he  thinks  we  have  made  trouble 
enough  for  to-day.  Next  time  we  go  hunt- 
ing, colonel,  I  think  you  had  better  leave 
your  warriors  at  home,"  was  Bill's  last  com- 
ment as  he  turned  his  horse's  tail  towards 
the  wolf. 

167 


WITH  THE  FIFTH  CORPS 


WITH  THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

I  APPROACH  this  subject  of  the  Santiago 
campaign  with  awe,  since  the  ablest  cor- 
respondents in  the  country  were  all  there, 
and  they  wore  out  lead-pencils  most  indus- 
triously. I  know  I  cannot  add  to  the  facts, 
but  I  remember  my  own  emotions,  which 
were  numerous,  interesting,  and,  on  the 
whole,  not  pleasant.  I  am  as  yet  unable  to 
decide  whether  sleeping  in  a  mud -puddle, 
the  confinement  of  a  troop -ship,  or  being 
shot  at  is  the  worst.  They  are  all  irritating, 
and  when  done  on  an  empty  stomach,  with 
the  object  of  improving  one's  mind,  they 
are  extravagantly  expensive.  However,  they 
satisfied  a  life  of  longing  to  see  men  do  the 
greatest  thing  which  men  are  called  on  to 
do. 

The  creation  of  things  by  men  in  time  of 
peace  is  of  every  consequence,  but  it  does 
171 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

not  bring  forth  the  tumultuous  energy  which 
accompanies  the  destruction  of  things  by  men 
in  war.  He  who  has  not  seen  war  only  half 
comprehends  the  possibilities  of  his  race. 
Having  thought  of  this  thing  before,  I  got  a 
correspondent's  pass,  and  ensconced  myself 
with  General  Shafter's  army  at  Tampa. 

When  Hobson  put  the  cork  in  Cervera's 
bottle,  it  became  necessary  to  send  the 
troops  at  once,  and  then  came  the  first 
shock  of  the  war  to  me.  It  was  in  the  form 
of  an  order  to  dismount  two  squadrons  of 
each  regiment  of  cavalry  and  send  them  on 
foot.  This  misuse  of  cavalry  was  compelled 
by  the  national  necessities,  for  there  was  not 
at  that  time  sufficient  volunteer  infantry 
equipped  and  in  readiness  for  the  field.  It 
is  without  doubt  that  our  ten  regiments  of 
cavalry  are  the  most  perfect  things  of  all 
Uncle  Sam's  public  institutions.  More  good 
honest  work  has  gone  into  them,  more  en- 
thusiasm, more  intelligence,  and  they  have 
shown  more  results,  not  excepting  the  new 
navy  or  the  postal  system. 

The  fires  of  hatred  burned  .within  me.  I 
was  nearly  overcome  by  a  desire  to  "  go  off 
172 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

the  reservation."  I  wanted  to  damn  some 
official,  or  all  officialism,  or  so  much  thereof 
as  might  be  necessary.  I  knew  that  the 
cavalry  officers  were  to  a  man  disgusted, 
and  thought  they  had  been  misused  and 
abused.  They  recognized  it  as  a  blow  at 
their  arm,  a  jealous,  wicked,  and  ignorant 
stab.  Besides,  the  interest  of  my  own  art 
required  a  cavalry  charge. 

General  Miles  appeared  at  Tampa  about 
that  time,  and  I  edged  around  towards  him, 
and  threw  out  my  "  point."  It  is  necessary 
to  attack  General  Miles  with  great  care  and 
understanding,  if  one  expects  any  success. 
11  General,  I  wonder  who  is  responsible  for 
this  order  dismounting  the  cavalry?"  I  vent- 
ured. 

I  think  the  "old  man"  could  almost  see 
me  coming,  for  he  looked  up  from  the  read- 
ing of  a  note,  and  in  a  quiet  manner,  which 
is  habitual  with  him,  said,  "  Why,  don't  they 
want  to  go?"  and  he  had  me  flat  on  the 
ground. 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course !  They  are  crazy  to 
go!  They  would  go  if  they  had  to  walk  on 
their  hands  !"  I  said,  and  departed.  A  soldier 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

who  did  not  want  to  go  to  Cuba  would  be 
like  a  fire  which  would  not  burn  —  useless 
entirely.  So  no  one  got  cursed  for  that 
business;  but  it  is  a  pity  that  our  nation 
finds  it  necessary  to  send  cavalry  to  war  on 
foot.  It  would  be  no  worse  if  some  day  it 
should  conclude  to  mount  "  bluejackets"  for 
cavalry  purposes,  though  doubtless  the"  blue- 
jackets "  would  "  sit  tight."  But  where  is  the 
use  of  specialization  ?  One  might  as  well  ask 
the  nurse-girl  to  curry  the  family  horse. 

So  the  transports  gathered  to  Port  Tam- 
pa, and  the  troops  got  on  board,  and  the 
correspondents  sallied  down  to  their  quar- 
ters, and  then  came  a  wait.  A  Spanish  war- 
ship had  loomed  across  the  night  of  some 
watch  -  on  -  deck  down  off  the  Cuban  coast. 
Telegrams  flew  from  Washington  to  "  stop 
where  you  are."  The  mules  and  the  corre- 
spondents were  unloaded,  and  the  whole  en- 
terprise waited. 

Here  I  might  mention  a  series  of  events 
which  were  amusing.  The  exigencies  of  the 
service  left  many  young  officers  behind,  and 
these  all  wanted,  very  naturally,  to  go  to 
Cuba  and  get  properly  shot,  as  all  good 
174 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

soldiers  should.  They  used  their  influence 
with  the  general  officers  in  command  ;  they 
begged,  they  implored,  and  they  explained 
deviously  and  ingeniously  why  the  expedi- 
tion needed  their  particular  services  to  insure 
success.  The  old  generals,  who  appreciated 
the  proper  spirit  which  underlay  this  enthu- 
siasm, smiled  grimly  as  they  turned  "  the 
young  scamps"  down.  I  used  to  laugh  to 
myself  when  I  overheard  these  interviews, 
for  one  could  think  of  nothing  so  much  as 
the  school -boy  days,  when  he  used  to  beg 
off  going  to  school  for  all  sorts  of  reasons 
but  the  real  one,  which  was  a  ball-game  or 
a  little  shooting-trip. 

Presently  the  officials  got  the  Spanish 
war -ship  off  their  nerves,  and  the  trans- 
ports sailed.  Now  it  is  so  arranged  in  the 
world  that  I  hate  a  ship  in  a  compound, 
triple-expansion,  forced -draught  way.  Bar- 
ring the  disgrace,  give  me  "  ten  days  on  the 
island."  Do  anything  to  me,  but  do  not 
have  me  entered  on  the  list  of  a  ship.  It 
does  not  matter  if  I  am  to  be  the  lordly 
proprietor  of  the  finest  yacht  afloat,  make 
me  a  feather  in  a  sick  chicken's  tail  on 
175 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

shore,  and  I  will  thank  you.  So  it  came 
about  that  I  did  an  unusual  amount  of  real 
suffering  in  consequence  of  living  on  the 
Seguranga  during  the  long  voyage  to  Cuba. 
I  used  to  sit  out  on  the  after-deck  and  won- 
der why,  at  my  time  of  life,  I  could  not  so 
arrange  my  affairs  that  I  could  keep  off 
ships.  I  used  to  consider  seriously  if  it 
would  not  be  a  good  thing  to  jump  over- 
board and  let  the  leopard  -  sharks  eat  me, 
and  have  done  with  a  miserable  existence 
which  I  did  not  seem  to  be  able  to  control. 

When  the  first  landing  was  made,  General 
Shafter  kept  all  the  correspondents  and  the 
foreign  military  attache's  in  his  closed  fist, 
and  we  all  hated  him  mightily.  We  shall 
probably  forgive  him,  but  it  will  take  some 
time.  He  did  allow  us  to  go  ashore  and  see 
the  famous  interview  which  he  and  Admiral 
Sampson  held  with  Garcia,  and  for  the  first 
time  to  behold  the  long  lines  of  ragged 
Cuban  patriots,  and  I  was  convinced  that  it 
was  no  mean  or  common  impulse  which  kept 
up  the  determination  of  these  ragged,  hun- 
gry souls. 

Then  on  the  morning  of  the  landing  at 
176 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

Daiquiri  the  soldiers  put  on  their  blanket 
rolls,  the  navy  boats  and  launches  lay  by 
the  transports,  and  the  light  ships  of  Samp- 
son's fleet  ran  slowly  into  the  little  bay  and 
"turned  everything  loose"  on  the  quiet, 
palm  -  thatched  village.  A  few  fires  were 
burning  in  the  town,  but  otherwise  it  was 
quiet.  After  severely  pounding  the  coast, 
the  launches  towed  in  the  long  lines  of 
boats  deep  laden  with  soldiery,  and  the  cor- 
respondents and  foreigners  saw  them  go 
into  the  overhanging  smoke.  We  held  our 
breath.  We  expected  a  most  desperate 
fight  for  the  landing.  After  a  time  the 
smoke  rolled  away,  and  our  people  were 
on  the  beach,  and  not  long  after  some  men 
climbed  the  steep  hill  on  which  stood  a 
block-house,  and  we  saw  presently  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  break  from  the  flag-staff.  "  They 
are  Chinamen  !"  said  a  distinguished  foreign 
soldier;  and  he  went  to  the  other  side  of 
the  boat,  and  sat  heavily  down  to  his  read- 
ing of  our  artillery  drill  regulations. 

We  watched  the  horses  and  mules  being 
thrown  overboard,  we  saw  the  last  soldiers 
going    ashore,    and    we    bothered    General 
177 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

Shafter's  aid,  the  gallant  Mile)',  until  he 
put  us  all  on  shore  in  order  to  abate  the 
awful  nuisance  of  our  presence. 

No  one  had  any  transportation  in  the 
campaign,  not  even  colonels  of  regiments, 
except  their  good  strong  backs.  It  was  for 
every  man  to  personally  carry  all  his  own 
hotel  accommodations;  so  we  correspond- 
ents laid  out  our  possessions  on  the  deck, 
and  for  the  third  time  sorted  out  what  little 
we  could  take.  I  weighed  a  silver  pocket- 
flask  for  some  time,  undecided  as  to  the  pos- 
sibility of  carriage.  It  is  now  in  the  woods 
of  Cuba,  or  in  the  ragged  pack  of  some 
Cuban  soldier.  We  had  finally  three  days 
of  crackers,  coffee,  and  pork  in  our  haver- 
sacks, our  canteens,  rubber  ponchos,  cameras, 
and  six-shooter — or  practically  what  a  soldier 
has. 

I  moved  out  with  the  Sixth  Cavalry  a  mile 
or  so,  and  as  it  was  late  afternoon,  we  were 
ordered  to  bivouac.  I  sat  on  a  hill,  and 
down  in  the  road  below  saw  the  long  lines 
of  troops  pressing  up  the  valley  towards 
Siboney.  When  our  troops  got  on  the 
sand  beach,  each  old  soldier  adjusted  his 
178 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

roll,  shouldered  his  rifle,  and  started  for 
Santiago,  apparently  by  individual  intuition. 

The  troops  started,  and  kept  marching  just 
as  fast  as  they  could.  They  ran  the  Span- 
iards out  of  Siboney,  and  the  cavalry  brigade 
regularly  marched  down  their  retreating  col- 
umns at  Las  Guasimas,  fought  them  up  a 
defile,  outflanked,  and  sent  them  flying  into 
Santiago.  I  think  our  army  would  never 
have  stopped  until  it  cracked  into  the 
doomed  city  in  column  formation,  if  Shaft- 
er  had  not  discovered  this  unlooked-for  en- 
terprise, and  sent  his  personal  aide  on  a 
fast  horse  with  positive  orders  to  halt  until 
the  "  cracker-line  "  could  be  fixed  up  behind 
them. 

In  the  morning  I  sat  on  the  hill,  and  still 
along  the  road  swung  the  hard-marching  col- 
umns. The  scales  dropped  from  my  eyes.  I 
could  feel  the  impulse,  and  still  the  Sixth  was 
held  by  orders.  I  put  on  my  "  little  hotel 
equipment,"  bade  my  friends  good-bye,  and 
"  hit  the  road."  The  sides  of  it  were  blue 
with  cast-off  uniforms.  Coats  and  overcoats 
were  strewn  about,  while  the  gray  blankets 
lay  in  the  camps  just  where  the  soldiers  had 
179 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

gotten  up  from  them  after  the  night's  rest. 
This  I  knew  would  happen.  Men  will  not 
carry  what  they  can  get  along  without  un- 
less they  are  made  to ;  and  it  is  a  bad  thing 
to  "  make  "  American  soldiers,  because  they 
know  what  is  good  for  them  better  than  any 
one  who  sits  in  a  roller-chair.  In  the  tropics 
mid  -  day  marching  under  heavy  kits  kills 
more  men  than  damp  sleeping  at  night.  I 
used  to  think  the  biggest  thing  in  Shafter's 
army  was  my  pack. 

It  was  all  so  strange,  this  lonely  tropic  for- 
est, and  so  hot.  I  fell  in  with  a  little  bunch 
of  headquarters  cavalry  orderlies,  some  with 
headquarters  horses,  and  one  with  a  mule 
dragging  two  wheels,  which  I  cannot  call  a 
cart,  on  which  General  Young's  stuff  was 
tied.  We  met  Cubans  loitering  along,  their 
ponies  loaded  with  abandoned  soldier-clothes. 
Staff-  officers  on  horseback  came  back  and 
said  that  there  had  been  a  fight  on  beyond, 
and  that  Colonel  Wood  was  killed  and  young 
Fish  shot  dead — that  the  Rough  Riders  were 
all  done  to  pieces.  There  would  be  more 
fighting,  and  we  pushed '  forward,  sweating 
under  the  stifling  heat  of  the  jungle-choked 
1 80 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

road.  We  stopped  and  cracked  cocoanuts 
to  drink  the  milk.  Once,  in  a  sort  of  sa- 
vanna, my  companions  halted  and  threw 
cartridges  into  their  carbines.  I  saw  two  or 
three  Spanish  soldiers  on  ahead  in  some 
hills  and  brush.  We  pressed  on  ;  but  as  the 
Spanish  soldiers  did  not  seem  to  be  con- 
cerned as  to  our  presence,  I  allowed  they 
were  probably  Cubans  who  had  taken 
clothes  from  dead  Spanish  soldiers,  and 
so  it  turned  out.  The  Cubans  seem  to 
know  each  other  by  scent,  but  it  bothered 
the  Northern  men  to  make  a  distinction 
between  Spanish  and  Cuban,  even  when 
shown  Spanish  prisoners  in  order  that  they 
might  recognize  their  enemy  by  sight.  If 
a  simple  Cuban  who  stole  Spanish  soldier 
clothes  could  only  know  how  nervous  it 
made  the  trigger  fingers  of  our  regulars,  he 
would  have  died  of  fright.  He  created  the 
same  feeling  that  a  bear  would,  and  the  im- 
pulse to  "  pull  up  and  let  go"  was  so  in- 
stinctive and  sudden  with  our  men  that  I 
marvel  more  mistakes  were  not  made. 

At  night  I  lay  up  beside  the  road  outside 
of  Siboney,  and  cooked  my  supper  by  a  sol- 
181 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

dier  fire,  and  lay  down  under  a  mango-tree 
on  my  rubber,  with  my  haversack  for  a  pil- 
low. I  could  hear  the  shuffling  of  the 
marching  troops,  and  see  by  the  light  of 
the  fire  near  the  road  the  white  blanket- 
rolls  glint  past  its  flame — tired,  sweaty  men, 
mysterious  and  silent  too  but  for  the  clank 
of  tin  cups  and  the  monotonous  shuffle  of 
feet. 

In  the  early  morning  the  field  near  me 
was  covered  with  the  cook-fires  of  infantry, 
which  had  come  in  during  the  night.  Pres- 
ently a  battery  came  dragging  up,  and  was 
greeted  with  wild  cheers  from  the  infantry, 
who  crowded  up  to  the  road.  It  was  a  great 
tribute  to  the  guns ;  for  here  in  the  face  of 
war  the  various  arms  realized  their  interde- 
pendence. It  is  a  solace  for  cavalry  to  know 
that  there  is  some  good  steady  infantry  in 
their  rear,  and  it  is  a  vast  comfort  for  in- 
fantry to  feel  that  their  front  and  flanks  are 
covered,  and  both  of  them  like  to  have  the 
shrapnel  travelling  their  way  when  they  "  go 
in." 

At  Siboney  I  saw  the  first  wounded  Rough 
Riders,  and  heard  how  they  had  behaved. 
182 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

From  this  time  people  began  to  know  who 
this  army  doctor  was,  this  Colonel  Wood. 
Soldiers  and  residents  in  the  Southwest  had 
known  him  ten  years  back.  They  knew 
Leonard  Wood  was  a  soldier,  skin,  bones, 
and  brain,  who  travelled  under  the  disguise 
of  a  doctor,  and  now  they  know  more  than 
this. 

Then  I  met  a  fellow -correspondent,  Mr. 
John  Fox,  and  we  communed  deeply.  We 
had  not  seen  this  fight  of  the  cavalry  bri- 
gade, and  this  was  because  we  were  not  at 
the  front.  We  would  not  let  it  happen 
again.  We  slung  our  packs  and  most  in- 
dustriously plodded  up  the  Via  del  Rey 
until  we  got  to  within  hailing  distance  of 
the  picket  posts,  and  he  said :  "  Now,  Fred- 
eric, we  will  stay  here.  They  will  pull  off 
no  more  fights  of  which  we  are  not  a  party 
of  the  first  part."  And  stay  we  did.  If 
General  Lawton  moved  ahead,  we  went  up 
and  cultivated  Lawton  ;  but  if  General  Chaf- 
fee  got  ahead,  we  were  his  friends,  and  gath- 
ered at  his  mess  fire.  To  be  popular  with 
us  it  was  necessary  for  a  general  to  have 
command  of  the  advance. 
183 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

But  what  satisfying  soldiers  Lawton  and 
Chaffee  are !  Both  seasoned,  professional  mil- 
itary types.  Lawton,  big  and  long,  forceful, 
and  with  iron  determination.  Chaffee,  who 
never  dismounts  but  for  a  little  sleep  during 
the  darkest  hours  of  the  night,  and  whose 
head  might  have  been  presented  to  him  by 
one  of  William's  Norman  barons.  Such  a 
head !  We  used  to  sit  around  and  study 
that  head.  It  does  not  belong  to  the  pe- 
riod ;  it  is  remote,  when  the  race  was  young 
and  strong  ;  and  it  has  "  warrior  "  sculptured 
in  every  line.  It  may  seem  trivial  to  you, 
but  I  must  have  people  "  look  their  part." 
That  so  many  do  not  in  this  age  is  probably 
because  men  are  so  complicated  ;  but  "  war 
is  a  primitive  art,"  and  that  is  the  one  ob- 
jection I  had  to  von  Moltke,  with  his  sim- 
ple, student  face.  He  might  have  been  any- 
thing. Chaffee  is  a  soldier. 

The  troops  came  pouring  up  the  road, 
reeking  under  their  packs,  dusty,  and  with 
their  eyes  on  the  ground.  Their  faces  were 
deeply  lined,  their  beards  stubby,  but  their 
minds  were  set  on  "  the  front  " — uon  Santi- 
ago." There  was  a  suggestion  of  remorse- 
184 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

less  striving  in  their  dogged  stepping  along, 
and  it  came  to  me  that  to  turn  them  around 
would  require  some  enterprise.  I  thought  at 
the  time  that  the  Spanish  commander  would 
do  well  to  assume  the  offensive,  and  march- 
ing down  our  flank,  pierce  the  centre  of  the 
straggling  column  ;  but  I  have  since  changed 
my  mind,  because  of  the  superior  fighting 
ability  which  our  men  showed.  It  must  be 
carefully  remembered  that,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  three  regiments  of  Shafter's  army, 
and  even  these  were  "  picked  volunteers," 
the  whole  command  was  our  regular  army 
— trained  men,  physically  superior  to  any 
in  the  world,  as  any  one  will  know  who 
understands  the  requirements  of  our  enlist- 
ment as  against  that  of  conscript  troops ; 
and  they  were  expecting  attack,  and  pray- 
ing devoutly  for  it.  Besides,  at  Las  Guasi- 
mas  we  got  the  moral  on  the  Spanish. 

Then  came  the  "  cracker  problem."  The 
gallant  Cabanais  pushed  his  mules  day  and 
night.  I  thought  they  would  go  to  pieces 
under  the  strain,  and  I  think  every  "  packer" 
who  worked  on  the  Santiago  line  will  never 
forget  it.  Too  much  credit  cannot  be  given 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

them.  The  command  was  sent  into  the  field 
without  its  proper  ratio  of  pack-mules,  and  I 
hope  the  blame  of  that  will  come  home  to 
some  one  some  day.  That  was  the  direct 
and  only  cause  of  all  the  privation  and  delay 
which  became  so  notable  in  Shafter's  opera- 
tions. I  cannot  imagine  a  man  who  would 
recommend  wagons  for  a  tropical  country 
during  the  rainy  season.  Such  a  one  should 
not  be  censured  or  reprimanded  ;  he  should 
be  spanked  with  a  slipper. 

So  while  the  engineers  built  bridges,  and 
the  troops  made  roads  behind  them,  and 
until  we  got  "three  days  crackers  ahead"  for 
the  whole  command,  things  stopped.  The 
men  were  on  half -rations,  were  out  of  to- 
bacco, and  it  rained,  rained,  rained.  We 
were  very  miserable. 

Mr.  John  Fox  and  I  had  no  cover  to  keep 
the  rain  out,  and  our  determination  to  stay 
up  in  front  hindered  us  from  making  friends 
with  any  one  who  had.  Even  the  private 
soldiers  had  their  dog- tents,  but  we  had 
nothing  except  our  two  rubber  ponchos. 
At  evening,  after  we  had  "  bummed  "  some 
crackers  and  coffee  from  some  good-natured 
1 86 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

officer,  we  repaired  to  our  neck  of  woods, 
and  stood  gazing  at  our  mushy  beds.  It 
was  good,  soft,  soggy  mud,  and  on  it,  or 
rather  in  it,  we  laid  one  poncho,  and  over 
that  we  spread  the  other. 

"  Say,  Frederic,  that  means  my  death ;  I 
am  subject  to  malaria." 

"  Exactly  so,  John.  This  cold  of  mine 
will  end  in  congestion  of  the  lungs,  or  pos- 
sibly bronchial  consumption.  Can  you  sug- 
gest any  remedy?" 

"  The  fare  to  New  York,"  said  John,  as 
we  turned  into  our  wallow. 

At  last  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  buy  a 
horse  from  an  invalided  officer.  It  seemed 
great  fortune,  but  it  had  its  drawback.  I 
was  ostracized  by  my  fellow-correspondents. 

All  this  time  the  reconnoissance  of  the 
works  of  Santiago  and  the  outlying  post  of 
Caney  was  in  progress.  It  was  rumored 
that  the  forward  movement  would  come, 
and  being  awakened  by  the  bustle,  I  got 
up  in  the  dark,  and  went  gliding  around 
until  I  managed  to  steal  a  good  feed  of 
oats  for  my  horse.  This  is  an  important 
truth  as  showing  the  demoralization  of  war. 
Q  187 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

In  the  pale  light  I  saw  a  staff -officer  who 
was  going  to  Caney,  and  I  followed  him. 
We  overtook  others,  and  finally  came  to  a 
hill  overlooking  the  ground  which  had  been 
fought  over  so  hard  during  the  day.  Ca- 
pron's  battery  was  laying  its  guns,  and  back 
of  the  battery  were  staff -officers  and  corre- 
spondents eagerly  scanning  the  country  with 
field-glasses.  In  the  rear  of  these  stood  the 
hardy  First  Infantry,  picturesquely  eager  and 
dirty,  while  behind  the  hill  were  the  battery 
horses,  out  of  harm's  way. 

The  battery  opened  and  knocked  holes  in 
the  stone  fort,  but  the  fire  did  not  appear  to 
depress  the  rifle-pits.  Infantry  in  the  jungle 
below  us  fired,  and  were  briskly  answered 
from  the  trenches. 

I  had  lost  my  canteen  and  wanted  a  drink 
of  water,  so  I  slowly  rode  back  to  a  creek. 
I  was  thinking,  when  along  came  another 
correspondent.  We  discussed  things,  and 
thought  Caney  would  easily  fall  before 
Lawton's  advance,  but  we  had  noticed  a 
big  movement  of  our  troops  towards  Santi- 
ago, and  we  decided  that  we  would  return 
to  the  main  road  and  see  which  promised 
1 88 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

best.  Sure  enough,  the  road  was  jammed 
with  troops,  and  up  the  hill  of  El  Poso  went 
the  horses  of  Grimes's  battery  under  whip  and 
spur.  Around  El  Poso  ranch  stood  Cubans, 
and  along  the  road  the  Rough  Riders — 
Roosevelt's  now,  for  Wood  was  a  brigadier. 

The  battery  took  position,  and  behind  it 
gathered  the  foreigners,  naval  and  military, 
with  staff  -  officers  and  correspondents.  It 
was  a  picture  such  as  may  be  seen  at  a 
manoeuvre.  Grimes  fired  a  few  shells  tow- 
ards Santiago,  and  directly  came  a  shrill 
screaming  shrapnel  from  the  Spanish  lines. 
It  burst  over  the  Rough  Riders,  and  the 
manoeuvre  picture  on  the  hill  underwent  a 
lively  change.  It  was  thoroughly  evident 
that  the  Spaniards  had  the  range  of  every- 
thing in  the  country.  They  had  studied  it 
out.  For  myself,  I  fled,  dragging  my  horse 
up  the  hill,  out  of  range  of  Grimes's  inviting 
guns.  Some  as  gallant  soldiers  and  some 
as  daring  correspondents  as  it  is  my  pleas- 
ure to  know  did  their  legs  proud  there. 
The  tall  form  of  a  staff -major  moved  in 
my  front  in  jack-rabbit  bounds.  Prussian, 
English,  and  Japanese,  correspondents,  ar- 
189 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

tists,  all  the  news,  and  much  high  -  class  art 
and  literature,  were  flushed,  and  went  strad- 
dling up  the  hill  before  the  first  barrel  of 
the  Dons.  Directly  came  the  warning 
scream  of  No.  2,  and  we  dropped  and 
hugged  the  ground  like  star -fish.  Bang! 
right  over  us  it  exploded.  I  was  dividing 
a  small  hollow  with  a  distinguished  colonel 
of  the  staff. 

"  Is  this  thing  allowed,  colonel?" 

"Oh  yes,  indeed!"  he  said.  "I  don't 
think  we  could  stop  those  shrapnel." 

And  the  next  shell  went  into  the  battery, 
killing  and  doing  damage.  Following  shell 
were  going  into  the  helpless  troops  down  in 
the  road,  and  Grimes  withdrew  his  battery  for 
this  cause.  He  had  been  premature.  All 
this  time  no  one's  glass  could  locate  the  fire 
of  the  Spanish  guns,  and  we  could  see  Ca- 
pron's  smoke  miles  away  on  our  right.  Smoky 
powder  belongs  with  arbalists  and  stone  axes 
and  United  States  ordnance  officers,  which 
things  all  belong  in  museums,  with  other 
dusty  rust. 

Then  I  got  far  up  on  the  hill,  walking  over 
the  prostrate  bodies  of  my  old  friends  the 
190 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

Tenth  Cavalry,  who  were  .hugging  the  hot 
ground  to  get  away  from  the  hotter  shrap- 
nel. There  I  met  a  clubmate  from  New 
York,  and  sundry  good  foreigners,  notably 
the  Prussian  (von  Goetzen),  and  that  lovely 
"old  British  salt"  Paget,  and  the  Japanese 
major,  whose  name  I  could  never  remember. 
We  sat  there.  I  listened  to  much  expert 
artillery  talk,  though  the  talk  was  not  quite 
so  impressive  as  the  practice  of  that  art. 

But  the  heat — let  no  man  ever  attempt 
that  after  Kipling's  "and  the  heat  would 
make  your  blooming  eyebrows  crawl." 

This  hill  was  the  point  of  vantage ;  it 
overlooked  the  flat  jungle,  San  Juan  hills, 
Santiago,  and  Caney,  the  whole  vast  coun- 
try to  the  mountains  which  walled  in  the 
whole  scene.  I  heard  the  experts  talk,  and 
I  love  military  science,  but  I  slowly  thought 
to  myself  this  is  not  my  art — neither  the  sci- 
ence of  troop  movement  nor  the  whole  land- 
scape. My  art  requires  me  to  go  down  in 
the  road  where  the  human  beings  are  who  do 
these  things  which  science  dictates,  in  the 
landscape  which  to  me  is  overshadowed  by 
their  presence.  I  rode  slowly,  on  account 
191 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

of  the  awful  sun.  Troops  were  standing 
everywhere,  lying  all  about,  moving  regu- 
larly up  the  jungle  road  towards  Santiago, 
and  I  wound  my  way  along  with  them,  say- 
ing, "  Gangway,  please." 

War  is  productive  of  so  many  results, 
things  happen  so  awfully  fast,  men  do  such 
strange  things,  pictures  make  themselves  at 
every  turn,  the  emotions  are  so  tremendous- 
ly strained,  that  what  knowledge  I  had  fled 
away  from  my  brain,  and  I  was  in  a  trance; 
and  do  you  know,  cheerful  reader,  I  am  not 
going  to  describe  a  battle  to  you. 

War,  storms  at  sea,  mountains,  deserts, 
pests,  and  public  calamities  leave  me  with- 
out words.  I  simply  said,  "  Gangway  "  as  I 
wormed  my  way  up  the  fateful  road  to  San- 
tiago. Fellows  I  knew  out  West  and  up 
North  and  down  South  passed  their  word 
to  me,  and  I  felt  that  I  was  not  alone.  A 
shrapnel  came  shrieking  down  the  road, 
and  I  got  a  drink  of  water  and  a  cracker 
from  Colonel  Garlington.  The  soldiers  were 
lying  alongside  and  the  staff -officers  were 
dismounted,  also  stopping  quietly  in  the 
shade  of  the  nearest  bush.  The  column  of 
192 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

troops  was  working  its  way  into  the  battle- 
line. 

"  I  must  be  going,"  I  said,  and  I  mounted 
my  good  old  mare — the  colonel's  horse.  It 
was  a  tender,  hand  -  raised  trotting  -  horse, 
which  came  from  Colorado,  and  was  perfect- 
ly mannered.  We  were  in  love. 

The  long  columns  of  men  on  the  road 
had  never  seen  this  condition  before.  It 
was  their  first  baby.  Oh,  a  few  of  the  old 
soldiers  had,  but  it  was  so  long  ago  that  this 
must  have  come  to  them  almost  as  a  new 
sensation.  Battles  are  like  other  things  in 
nature — no  two  the  same. 

I  could  hear  noises  such  as  you  can  make 
if  you  strike  quickly  with  a  small  walking- 
stick  at  a  very  few  green  leaves.  Some  of 
them  were  very  near  and  others  more  faint. 
They  were  the  Mausers,  and  out  in  front 
through  the  jungle  I  could  hear  what  sound- 
ed like  a  Fourth  of  July  morning,  when  the 
boys  are  setting  off  their  crackers.  It  struck 
me  as  new,  strange,  almost  uncanny,  because 
I  wanted  the  roar  of  battle,  which  same  I 
never  did  find.  These  long-range,  smoke- 
less bolts  are  so  far-reaching,  and  there  is  so 
193 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

little  fuss,  that  a  soldier  is  for  hours  under 
fire  getting  into  the  battle  proper,  and  he 
has  time  to  think.  That  is  hard  when  you 
consider  the  seriousness  of  what  he  is  think- 
ing about.  The  modern  soldier  must  have 
moral  quality ;  the  gorrilla  is  out  of  date. 
This  new  man  may  go  through  a  war,  be  in 
a  dozen  battles,  and  survive  a  dozen  wounds 
without  seeing  an  enemy.  This  would  be 
unusual,  but  easily  might  happen.  All  our 
soldiers  of  San  Juan  were  for  the  most  part 
of  a  day  under  fire,  subject  to  wounds  and 
death,  before  they  had  even  a  chance  to 
know  where  the  enemy  was  whom  they 
were  opposing.  To  all  appearance  they 
were  apathetic,  standing  or  marching  through 
the  heat  of  the  jungle.  They  flattened  them- 
selves before  the  warning  scream  of  the  shrap- 
nel, but  that  is  the  proper  thing  to  do.  Some 
good-natured  fellow  led  the  regimental  mas- 
cot, which  was  a  fice,  or  a  fox-terrier.  Really, 
the  dog  of  war  is  a  fox-terrier.  Stanley  took 
one  through  Africa.  He  is  in  all  English 
regiments,  and  he  is  gradually  getting  into 
ours.  His  flag  is  short,  but  it  sticks  up 
straight  on  all  occasions,  and  he  is  a  vaga- 
194 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

bond.  Local  ties  must  set  lightly  on  sol- 
diers and  fox-terriers. 

Then  came  the  light  as  I  passed  out  of 
the  jungle  and  forded  San  Juan  River.  The 
clicking  in  the  leaves  continued,  and  the 
fire  -  crackers  rattled  out  in  front.  "  Get 
down,  old  man;  you'll  catch  one!"  said  an 
old  alkali  friend,  and  I  got  down,  sitting 
there  with  the  officers  of  the  cavalry  bri- 
gade. But  promptly  some  surgeons  came 
along,  saying  that  it  was  the  only  safe  place, 
and  they  began  to  dig  the  sand  to  level  it. 
We,  in  consequence,  moved  out  into  the 
crackle,  and  I  tied  my  horse  with  some 
others. 

"Too  bad,  old  fellow,"  I  thought;  "I 
should  have  left  you  behind.  Modern  rifle 
fire  is  rough  on  horses.  They  can't  lie  down. 
But,  you  dear  thing,  you  will  have  to  take 
your  chances."  And  then  I  looked  at  the 
preparation  for  the  field  hospital.  It  was 
altogether  too  suggestive.  A  man  came, 
stooping  over,  with  his  arms  drawn  up,  and 
hands  flapping  downward  at  the  wrists.  That 
is  the  way  with  all  people  when  they  are 
shot  through  the  body,  because  they  want 
195 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

to  hold  the  torso  steady,  because  if  they 
don't  it  hurts.  Then  the  oncoming  troops 
poured  through  the  hole  in  the  jungle  which 
led  to  the  San  Juan  River,  which  was  our 
line  of  battle,  as  I  supposed.  I  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  plan  of  battle,  and  I  have  an  odd 
conceit  that  no  one  else  did,  but  most  all  the 
line -officers  were  schooled  men,  and  they 
were  able  to  put  two  and  two  together 
mighty  fast,  and  in  most  instances  faster 
than  headquarters.  When  educated  sol- 
diers are  thrown  into  a  battle  without  un- 
derstanding, they  understand  themselves. 

As  the  troops  came  pouring  across  the  ford 
they  stooped  as  low  as  they  anatomically 
could,  and  their  faces  were  wild  with  excite- 
ment. The  older  officers  stood  up  as  straight 
as  if  on  parade.  They  may  have  done  it 
through  pride,  or  they  may  have  known  that 
it  is  better  to  be  "  drilled  clean  "  than  to  have 
a  long,  ranging  wound.  It  was  probably 
both  ideas  which  stiffened  them  up  so. 

Then  came  the  curious  old  tube  drawn  by 
a  big  mule,  and  Borrowe  with  his  squad  of 
the  Rough  Riders.  It  was  the  dynamite- 
gun.  The  mule  was  unhooked  and  turned 
196 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

loose.  The  gun  was  trundled  up  the  road 
and  laid  for  a  shot,  but  the  cartridge  stuck, 
and  for  a  moment  the  cheerful  grin  left  the 
red  face  of  Borrowe.  Only  for  a  moment; 
for  back  he  came,  arid  he  and  his  men 
scraped  and  whittled  away  at  the  thing 
until  they  got  it  fixed.  The  poor  old  mule 
lay  down  with  a  grunt  and  slowly  died. 
The  fire  was  now  incessant.  The  bullets 
came  like  the  rain.  The  horses  lay  down 
one  after  another  as  the  Mausers  found 
their  billets.  I  tried  to  take  mine  to  a 
place  of  safety,  but  a  sharp  shooter  potted 
at  me,  and  I  gave  it  up.  There  was  no 
place  of  safety.  For  a  long  time  our  peo- 
ple did  not  understand  these  sharp-shooters 
in  their  rear,  and  I  heard  many  men  mur- 
mur that  their  own  comrades  were  shooting 
from  behind.  It  was  very  demoralizing  to 
us,  and  on  the  Spaniards'  part  a  very  des- 
perate enterprise  to  lie  deliberately  back  of 
our  line;  but  of  course,  with  bullets  coming 
in  to  the  front  by  the  bucketful,  no  one 
could  stop  for  the  few  tailing  shots.  The 
Spaniards  were  hidden  in  the  mango- trees, 
and  had  smokeless  powder. 
197 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

Now  men  came  walking  or  were  carried 
into  the  temporary  hospital  in  a  string. 
One  beautiful  boy  was  brought  in  by  two 
tough,  stringy,  hairy  old  soldiers,  his  head 
hanging  down  behind.  His  shirt  was  off, 
and  a  big  red  spot  shone  brilliantly  against 
his  marble-like  skin.  They  laid  him  tender- 
ly down,  and  the  surgeon  stooped  over  him. 
His  breath  came  in  gasps.  The  doctor  laid 
his  arms  across  his  breast,  and  shaking  his 
head,  turned  to  a  man  who  held  a  wounded 
foot  up  to  him,  dumbly  imploring  aid,  as  a 
dog  might.  It  made  my  nerves  jump,  look- 
ing at  that  grewsome  hospital,  sand-covered, 
with  bleeding  men,  and  yet  it  seemed  to 
have  fascinated  me;  but  I  gathered  myself 
and  stole  away.  I  went  down  the  creek, 
keeping  under  the  bank,  and  then  out  into 
the  "scrub,"  hunting  for  our  line;  but  I 
could  not  find  our  line.  The  bullets  cut 
and  clicked  around,  and  a  sharp-shooter 
nearly  did  for  me.  The  thought  came  to 
me,  what  if  I  am  hit  out  here  in  the  busli 
while  all  alone?  I  shall  never  be  found.  I 
would  go  back  to  the  road,  where  I  should  be 
discovered  in  such  case;  and  I  ran  so  quick- 
198 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

ly  across  a  space  that  my  sharp  -  shooting 
Spanish  friend  did  not  see  me.  After  that 
I  stuck  to  the  road.  As  I  passed  along  it 
through  an  open  space  I  saw  a  half-dozen 
soldiers  sitting  under  a  tree.  "  Look  out — 
sharp-shooters!"  they  sang  out.  "Wheet!" 
came  a  Mauser,  and  it  was  right  next  to  my 
ear,  and  two  more.  I  dropped  in  the  tall 
guinea  -  grass,  and  crawled  to  the  soldiers, 
and  they  studied  the  mango-trees;  but  we 
could  see  nothing.  I  think  that  episode  cost 
me  my  sketch-book.  I  believe  I  lost  it  dur- 
ing the  crawl,  and  our  friend  the  Spaniard 
shot  so  well  I  wouldn't  trust  him  again. 

From  the  vantage  of  a  little  bank  under  a 
big  tree  I  had  my  first  glimpse  of  San  Juan 
Hill,  and  the  bullets  whistled  about.  One 
would  "  tumble  "  on  a  tree  or  ricochet  from 
the  earth,  and  then  they  shrieked.  Our  men 
out  in  front  were  firing,  but  I  could  not  see 
them.  I  had  no  idea  that  our  people  were 
to  assault  that  hill — I  thought  at  the  time 
such  an  attempt  would  be  unsuccessful.  I 
could  see  with  my  powerful  glass  the  white 
lines  of  the  Spanish  intrenchments.  I  did 
not  understand  how  our  men  could  stay  out 
R  199 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

there  under  that  gruelling,  and  got  back  into 
the  safety  of  a  low  bank. 

A  soldier  said,  while  his  stricken  compan- 
ions were  grunting  around  him,  "  Boys,  I 
have  got  to  go  one  way  or  the  other,  pretty 
damn  quick/'  Directly  I  heard  our  line  yell- 
ing, and  even  then  did  not  suppose  it  was  an 
assault. 

Then  the  Mausers  came  in  a  continuous 
whistle.  I  crawled  along  to  a  new  place,  and 
finally  got  sight  of  the  fort,  and  just  then  I 
could  distinguish  our  blue  soldiers  on  the 
hill-top,  and  I  also  noticed  that  the  Mauser 
bullets  rained  no  more.  Then  I  started 
after.  The  country  was  alive  with  wounded 
men — some  to  die  in  the  dreary  jungle,  some 
to  get  their  happy-home  draft,  but  all  to  be 
miserable.  Only  a  handful  of  men  got  to  the 
top,  where  they  broke  out  a  flag  and  cheered. 
"Cheer"  is  the  word  for  that  sound.  You 
have  got  to  hear  it  once  where  it  means  so 
much,  and  ever  after  you  will  grin  when 
Americans  make  that  noise. 

San  Juan  was  taken  by  infantry  and  dis- 
mounted cavalry  of  the  United  States  regu- 
lar army  without  the  aid  of  artillery.     It  was 
200 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

the  most  glorious  feat  of  arms  I  ever  heard 
of,  considering  every  condition.  It  was  done 
without  grub,  without  reserves  of  either  am- 
munition or  men,  under  tropical  conditions. 
It  was  a  storm  of  intrenched  heights,  held 
by  veteran  troops  armed  with  modern  guns, 
supported  by  artillery,  and  no  other  troops 
on  the  earth  would  have  even  thought 
they  could  take  San  Juan  heights,  let  alone 
doing  it. 

I  followed  on  and  up  the  hill.  Our  men 
sat  about  in  little  bunches  in  the  pea-green 
guinea-grass,  exhausted.  A  young  officer  of 
the  Twenty-fourth,  who  was  very  much  ex- 
cited, threw  his  arms  about  me,  and  pointing 
to  twenty-five  big  negro  infantrymen  sitting 
near,  said,  "That's  all— that  is  all  that  is  left 
of  the  Twenty  -  fourth  Infantry,"  and  the 
tears  ran  off  his  mustache. 

Farther  on  another  officer  sat  with  his 
arms  around  his  knees.  I  knew  him  for  one 
of  these  analytical  chaps — a  bit  of  a  philoso- 
pher— too  highly  organized — so  as  to  be  mo- 
rose. "  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  brave  or 

not.     Now  there  is  S ;   he  don't   mind 

this  sort  of  thing.     I  think — " 
20 1 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

"Oh,  blow  your  philosophy!"  I  interrupt- 
ed. "  If  you  were  not  brave,  you  would  not 
be  here." 

The  Spanish  trenches  were  full  of  dead 
men  in  the  most  curious  attitudes,  while 
about  on  the  ground  lay  others,  mostly  on 
their  backs,  and  nearly  all  shot  in  the  head. 
Their  set  teeth  shone  through  their  parted 
lips,  and  they  were  horrible.  The  life  never 
runs  so  high  in  a  man  as  it  does  when  he  is 
charging  on  the  field  of  battle;  death  never 
seems  so  still  and  positive. 

Troops  were  moving  over  to  the  right, 
where  there  was  firing.  A  battery  came  up 
and  went  into  position,  but  was  driven  back 
by  rifle  fire.  Our  batteries  with  their  smoky 
powder  could  not  keep  guns  manned  in  the 
face  of  the  Mausers.  Then,  with  gestures 
much  the  same  as  a  woman  makes  when  she 
is  herding  chickens,  the  officers  pushed  the 
men  over  the  hill.  They  went  crawling. 
The  Spanish  were  trying  to  retake  the  hill. 
We  were  short  of  ammunition.  I  threw  off 
my  hat  and  crawled  forward  to  have  a  look 
through  my  glass  at  the  beyond.  I  could 
hardly  see  our  troops  crouching  in  the  grass 
202 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

beside  me,  though  many  officers  stood  up. 
The  air  was  absolutely  crowded  with  Span- 
ish bullets.  There  was  a  continuous  whistle. 
The  shrapnel  came  screaming  over.  A  ball 
struck  in  front  of  me,  and  rilled  my  hair  and 
face  with  sand,  some  of  which  I  did  not  get 
out  for  days.  It  jolted  my  glass  and  my 
nerves,  and  I  beat  a  masterly  retreat,  crawl- 
ing rapidly  backwards,  for  a  reason  which  I 
will  let  you  guess.  The  small-arms  rattled ; 
now  and  then  a  wounded  man  came  back 
and  started  for  the  rear,  some  of  them  shot 
in  the  face,  bleeding  hideously. 

"  How  goes  it?"  I  asked  one. 

"Ammunition!  ammunition!"  said  the  man, 
forgetful  of  his  wound. 

I  helped  a  man  to  the  field  hospital,  and 
got  my  horse.  The  lucky  mare  was  un- 
touched. She  was  one  of  three  animals  not 
hit  out  of  a  dozen  tied  or  left  at  the  hospital. 
One  of  these  was  an  enormous  mule,  loaded 
down  with  what  was  probably  officers'  blan- 
ket rolls,  which  stood  sidewise  quietly  as 
only  a  mule  can  all  day,  and  the  last  I  saw 
of  him  he  was  alive.  Two  fine  officers' 
chargers  lay  at  his  feet,  one  dead  and  the 
203 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

other  unable  to  rise,  and  suffering  pathet- 
ically. The  mule  was  in  such  an  exposed 
position  that  I  did  not  care  to  unpack  him, 
and  Captain  Miley  would  not  let  any  one 
shoot  a  horse,  for  fear  of  the  demoralizing 
effect  of  fire  in  the  rear. 

A  trumpeter  brought  in  a  fine  officer's 
horse,  which  staggered  around  in  a  circle. 
I  saw  an  English  sabre  on  the  saddle,  and 
recognized  it  as  Lieutenant  Short's,  and  in- 
deed I  knew  the  horse  too.  He  was  the  fine 
thoroughbred  which  that  officer  rode  in  Madi- 
son Square  military  tournament  last  winter, 
when  drilling  the  Sixth  Cavalry.  The  trum- 
peter got  the  saddle  off,  and  the  poor  brute 
staggered  around  with  a  bewildered  look  in 
his  eager  eyes,  shot  in  the  stifle-joint,  I 
thought;  and  then  he  sat  down  in  the  creek 
as  a  dog  would  on  a  hot  day.  The  suffering 
of  animals  on  a  battle-field  is  most  impres- 
sive to  one  who  cares  for  them. 

I  again  started  out  to  the  hill,  along  with 
a  pack-train  loaded  with  ammunition.  A 
mule  went  down,  and  bullets  and  shell  were 
coming  over  the  hill  aplenty.  The  wounded 
going  to  the  rear  cheered  the  ammunition, 
204 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

and  when  it  was  unpacked  at  the  front,  the 
soldiers  seized  it  like  gold.  They  lifted  a 
box  in  the  air  and  dropped  it  on  one  cor- 
ner, which  smashed  it  open. 

"Now  we  can  hold  San  Juan  Hill  against 
them  garlics  —  hey,  son!"  yelled  a  happy 
cavalryman  to  a  doughboy. 

"You  bet— until  we  starve  to  death." 

"Starve  nothin'  —  we'll  eat  them  gun- 
teams." 

Well,  well,  I  said,  I  have  no  receipt  for 
licking  the  kind  of  troops  these  boys  repre- 
sent. And  yet  some  of  the  generals  wanted 
to  retreat. 

Having  had  nothing  to  eat  this  day,  I 
thought  to  go  back  to  headquarters  camp 
and  rustle  something.  Besides,  I  was  sick. 
But  beyond  the  hill,  down  the  road,  it  was 
very  dangerous,  while  on  the  hill  we  were 
safe.  "  Wait  for  a  lull ;  one  will  come 
soon,"  advised  an  old  soldier.  It  is  a  curi- 
ous thing  that  battle  firing  comes  like  a  big 
wind,  and  has  its  lulls.  Now  it  was  getting 
dark,  and  during  a  lull  I  went  back.  I  gave 
a  wounded  man  a  ride  to  the  field  hospital, 
but  I  found  I  was  too  weak  myself  to  walk 
205 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

far.  I  had  been  ill  during  the  whole  cam- 
paign, and  latterly  had  fever,  which,  taken 
together  with  the  heat,  sleeping  in  the  mud, 
marching,  and  insufficient  food,  had  done 
for  me. 

The  sight  of  that  road  as  I  wound  my 
way  down  it  was  something  I  cannot  de- 
scribe. The  rear  of  a  battle.  All  the  broken 
spirits,  bloody  bodies,  hopeless,  helpless  suf- 
fering which  drags  its  weary  length  to  the 
rear,  are  so  much  more  appalling  than  any- 
thing else  in  the  world  that  words  won't 
mean  anything  to  one  who  has  not  seen  it. 
Men  half  naked,  men  sitting  down  on  the 
road  -  side  utterly  spent,  men  hopping  on 
one  foot  with  a  rifle  for  a  crutch,  men  out 
of  their  minds  from  sunstroke,  men  dead, 
and  men  dying.  Officers  came  by  white  as 
this  paper,  carried  on  rude  litters  made  by 
their  devoted  soldiers,  or  borne  on  their 
backs.  I  got  some  food  about  ten  o'clock 
and  lay  down.  I  was  in  the  rear  at  head- 
quarters, and  there  were  no  bullets  and 
shells  cracking  about  my  ears,  but  I  found 
my  nerves  very  unsettled.  During  the  day 
I  had  discovered  no  particular  nervousness 
206 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

in  myself,  quite  contrary  to  my  expecta- 
tions, since  I  am  a  nervous  man,  but  there 
in  the  comparative  quiet  of  the  woods  the 
reaction  came.  Other  fellows  felt  the  same, 
and  we  compared  notes.  Art  and  literature 
under  Mauser  fire  is  a  jerky  business ;  it 
cannot  be  properly  systematized.  I  declared 
that  I  would  in  the  future  paint  "set  pieces 
for  dining-rooms."  Dining-rooms  are  so  much 
more  amusing  than  camps.  The  novelist  al- 
lowed that  he  would  be  forced  to  go  home 
and  complete  "  The  Romance  of  a  Quart 
Bottle."  The  explorer  declared  that  his 
treatise  on  the  "Flora  of  Bar  Harbor"  was 
promised  to  his  publishers. 

Soldiers  always  joke  after  a  battle.  They 
have  to  loosen  the  strings,  or  they  will  snap. 
There  was  a  dropping  fire  in  the  front,  and 
we  understood  our  fellows  were  intrenching. 
Though  I  had  gotten  up  that  morning  at 
half  past  three,  it  was  nearly  that  time  again 
before  I  went  to  sleep.  The  fever  and  the 
strong  soldier  -  coffee  banished  sleep  ;  then, 
again,  I  could  not  get  the  white  bodies 
which  lay  in  the  moonlight,  with  the  dark 
spots  on  them,  out  of  my  mind.  Most  of 
207 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

the  dead  on  modern  battle-fields  are  half 
naked,  because  of  the  "first -aid  bandage." 
They  take  their  shirts  off,  or  their  panta- 
loons, put  on  the  dressing,  and  die  that  way. 

It  is  well  to  bear  in  mind  the  difference 
in  the  point  of  view  of  an  artist  or  a  corre- 
spondent, and  a  soldier.  One  has  his  duties, 
his  responsibilities,  or  his  gun,  and  he  is  on 
the  firing-line  under  great  excitement,  with 
his  reputation  at  stake.  The  other  stalks 
through  the  middle  distance,  seeing  the 
fight  and  its  immediate  results,  the  wound- 
ed; lying  down  by  a  dead  body,  mayhap, 
when  the  bullets  come  quickly;  he  will 
share  no  glory;  he  has  only  the  responsi- 
bility of  seeing  clearly  what  he  must  tell; 
and  he  must  keep  his  nerve.  I  think  the 
soldier  sleeps  better  nights. 

The  next  day  I  started  again  for  the  front, 
dismounted,  but  I  only  got  to  El  Poso  Hill. 
I  lay  down  under  a  bank  by  the  creek.  I 
had  the  fever.  I  only  got  up  to  drink  deep- 
ly of  the  dirty  water.  The  heat  was  intense. 
The  re-enforcing  troops  marched  slowly  up 
the  road.  The  shells  came  railroading  down 
through  the  jungle,  but  these  troops  went 
208 


WITH    THE    FIFTH    CORPS 

on,  calm,  steady,  like  true  Americans.  I 
made  my  way  back  to  our  camp,  and  lay 
there  until  nightfall,  making  up  my  mind 
and  unmaking  it  as  to  my  physical  con- 
dition, until  I  concluded  that  I  had  "fin- 
ished." 


THE  END 


